


Slip Sliding Away

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sierra Verde, Blair is having problems with his vision. Is he sick or is there an other-worldly explanation? Together, he and Jim find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip Sliding Away

**Slip Sliding Away by Alyjude**

 

His world was just _that_ much off and it was scaring the hell out of him. For days now, there'd been no improvement. In fact, things were worse.

Blair gazed out over the city from his spot on the balcony and noticed how the trees leaned just _that_ much and how the sidewalks seemed to angle off to the right, just _that_ much, instead of heading straight up the street. And the people walking below him all seemed to be leaning just _that_ much to the right.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong, and it was time he faced it.

Maybe in his brain? A tumor? Wait, maybe an inner ear problem?

*****

"Well, Mr. Sandburg, according to all the test results, you're fine. No evidence of any inner ear problems, a clear MRI, EEG, blood work-up, everything is normal. I'd have to conclude that you're as healthy as a horse."

"Then why—"

The doctor put the folder down, leaned back on the stool, and regarded his young patient. "You're a grad student, Mr. Sandburg. A pretty busy one at that, right?" At Blair's nod, he went on. "It's been my experience that busy grad students who are also research fellows are under a great deal of stress. And as I recall, you also work with the Cascade PD, right?"

"Yes, but—"

The doctor held up his hand. "All I'm saying is that maybe you need to look at this whole thing from a psychological point of view. Stress can cause many different types of symptoms, Mr. Sandburg."

The man rotated on his stool and picked up a prescription pad. "I'm going to prescribe a mild sleeping aid and a pain killer for the headaches, but I strongly urge you to do something about the stress. Physically, you're fine, but continued anxiety can definitely take its toll."

Blair digested the advice, then nodded helplessly.

*****

Driving home, the feeling of wrongness persisted, which was oddly slapstick because the feeling of wrongness was punctuated by everything leaning to the right. A rightness of his world was signaling the wrongness.

Oh, yeah, he was losing his mind.

*****

"Jim, how are your senses lately?"

Jim looked up from the television and cocked his head. "Sandburg?"

"Just a question, Jim. How are your senses lately?"

"They're fine, why?"

"Nothing... weird going on?"

"No-o, nothing weird."

"Oh, okay. Good."

Blair went back to his magazine where all the printing leaned to the right, while Jim went back to the television. Blair was betting that for Jim, everything was leaning if it needed to lean, and was straight where it needed to be straight. He just knew that the men and women of the news were standing perfectly straight—for Jim.

For Blair, they leaned. Decidedly to the right.

Which was why he was reading. Print that leaned was easier to handle than people who leaned.

*****

Shit, even the little dancing lights that hid behind your eyes and only came out when you closed them and tried to see them were leaning. How could he sleep like this?

He couldn't.

Blair got up and wandered out into the living room. He stood silently and looked. Just looked. He sighed. Now the walls were wavering. Not too much, mind you, but they were definitely wavering.

This was not good.

Leaning and wavering and he couldn't stop it. He could blink, he could close his eyes tight and pray that when he opened them, everything would be back to normal, but it never worked.

Blair held out his right hand, then brought it up to his face.

Wavering.

His hand was wavering in the dark room.

"Blair, what's wrong?"

Jim's voice sent Blair shooting two feet into the air, which wavered, and sent him back. "Shit, don't do that, man."

"Sorry, but you're standing in the middle of the living room, in the middle of the night, and you're staring at your hand."

"Because it's wavering, Jim. It used to just lean to the right, but now, it's wavering. I've seen all the doctors and I'm healthy, but everything is still leaning and now wavering."

He knew his voice sounded plaintive, but he couldn't help it. And he couldn't help finally telling Jim either. A moment later, he was glad. Jim took his arm and led him gently to the couch where he sat Blair down, went into the kitchen, made tea, turned up the thermostat and came back, mug in hand.

"Drink this, then we'll talk."

Blair did as ordered, and when he was done and the leaning cup was placed on the leaning table, Jim, who was the only thing in his life that didn't lean, said, "All right, start from the beginning."

"I was born—"

"Sandburg—"

"Sorry. It started several weeks ago. Barely noticeable at first. Things around me were just that much off center, off kilter. I couldn't really pin it down. But then, things started to lean to the right. People, cars, streets, printed words, the television, what's _on_ the television, the works. I finally went to the doctor at the university. When he found nothing abnormal, he set me up with a specialist, an ears, nose and throat guy, but he found nothing, so then I was set up with a neurologist, who made an appointment for an MRI. You know, to check for tumors and such."

In the semi-darkness, Blair couldn't see Jim's face drain of all color.

"Then, while waiting for the results, I had my eyes checked. I received all the results yesterday at the university. I'm healthy. Which means, if it's not a physical problem, well, I must be going bonkers."

"Are you hearing voices?"

The question was asked in all seriousness and Blair loved Jim for it.

"No, no voices."

"Just things leaning?"

"Yes, but tonight, a few minutes ago, they started wavering. Like, you know, a mirage."

"I see."

"Do you, Jim? Do you see? Has anything like this ever happened to you?"

"No, Blair, it hasn't."

Sandburg could tell what that honesty cost his friend, could tell that Jim would have loved to say that, yes, it had happened to him. Blair lowered his head and stared at his wavering hands. "No, I didn't think it had," he finally said.

"I'm sorry, Blair."

"Don't be silly, Jim." He swiped a hand over his face and rubbed vigorously for a moment, then said, "I'm so god damned tired. I'm not sleeping all that well, especially the last few nights."

"This leaning thing is affecting your ability to sleep?"

"Yeah. When I close my eyes, all I see are leaning things, you know?"

"The circles and lines?"

"Yeah, only they're leaning."

"What about at work?"

"Nothing different. Joel leans, Megan leans, Simon leans—"

"I lean."

"No, you're the only person who doesn't lean or waver."

"Blair, look at me." Blair did. "I'm not leaning now?"

"Nope. You never lean, except when you lean for real."

"And I'm not wavering?"

"Nope. Steady as a rock."

"But when you look at yourself, you're leaning and wavering?" Blair nodded miserably. Jim sat back and mulled this over.

"Jim, we have to face facts. I'm losing it. I need help. _Professional_ help, as in _psychiatric_ help."

Jim faced his friend and said, "Why? If everything is leaning and wavering, everything but me, why is it you? Why not me? Maybe I'm the problem? You know, like the one kid marching to a different beat?"

Blair pinched himself. Yep, he was awake. "Um, Jim?"

"Look Sandburg, maybe _I'm_ the one off and it's making everything else seem—well, you know—"

"Off?"

"Yeah. I mean, we see the world around us a certain way, then something happens and maybe _I'm_ the one off kilter."

"If that were true, Jim, then I'd see the leaning only with you around. The contrast, see? But I see it all the time. In bed, in the bathroom, at work, at the University, with or without you."

"Oh. Good point. You've given this a lot of thought then."

"Yeah. Never prayed to have a tumor so much in my life, if you know what I mean. But I don't. Healthy as a horse. Well, except, apparently, my mind."

"Let's not jump to conclusions, okay? In case you've forgotten, it was only a few years ago that _I_ thought I was losing my mind. Turned out all that was happening was that I was gaining _you_."

Blair punched Jim in the arm. But hey, at least Jim's arm wasn't wavering or leaning.

*****

Jim moved to the kitchen and took a bottle of water out of the fridge. He used the time it took to open it and take a couple of swallows, to observe his best friend. Who, now that Jim really thought about it, looked like hell.

The idea that Sandburg was insane simply did not and would not compute with Jim. It wasn't possible. Not even remotely. Totally unacceptable. Therefore, something else was going on. Could it be Sentinel related? Okay, Jim had thrown out the possibility that _he_ was the one with the problem and Blair had shot that down rather effectively. But what if—

The 'what if' hung in the mental air and lead Jim down the path of dark questions. What if Blair really was sick? What if the doctors had missed something, like, a tumor? His heart was gripped with a cold hand, the fingers tightening at the thought of a truly ill Blair.

Jim put the kibosh on any more 'what ifs' as they'd only lead him to an ulcer. He walked back to the couch and took his seat, not failing to notice that Sandburg's gaze latched onto him as if he were a life preserver.

"We can figure this out, buddy. And I'm still not convinced that, somehow, this isn't related to me and my senses."

"Then why would it be affecting me and not you, Jim?"

"Like I'd know the answer to that? For all we know, I've started giving off these weird vibes and they're causing this whole—slider—effect for you."

Blair huffed a little, knuckled back a chunk of hair, then said a bit sarcastically, "But not Simon? Or any other member of Major Crime? Hell, Jim, you were with Megan all day yesterday. She have any sudden _leaning_ tendencies? Was she falling off curbs because she was certain they were the Grand Canyon?"

Jim's mouth dropped open, then he shut it with a snap. "You fell off a curb, Chief? When? Are you—"

"Jim, snap out of it. Yes, I fell off a curb, in front of Rainier, if you must know. Gave the students a nice laugh at my expense. I mean, the damn thing was leaning and the closer I got to it, the farther away it leaned, you know?" Blair shook his head. "Of course you don't know. It was like having a brand new pair of glasses, a new prescription—wait. You don't know what that's like either. Well, fuck."

Jim had to smile at that. "No, Blair, I don't think I'll ever know what it's like to have a new pair of glasses."

"Yeah, well, I console myself with the fact that _I'll_ never know what it's like to be..." he paused for effect, "bald."

Jim leaned in close, and with his index finger, traced along Blair's hairline. "Excuse me, Junior? I do believe this..." he tapped Blair's head, "…is what's called a receding hairline."

"No it isn't. I just have a broad forehead," Blair defended hotly.

"You keep telling yourself that, Baldy. One of these days, you're gonna look like George Carlin."

"Fine by me, Kojak."

They looked at each other, then grinned and, for a moment, leaning was forgotten.

*****

Jim moved about his home, locking up, listening, patrolling. His nightly ritual. A ritual that Blair said was part of his inheritance. Jim thought Blair was full of shit. Of course, he had to admit that he'd never done this whole patrolling thing when he'd lived alone. Back then, he'd lock up and promptly fall asleep on the couch as the set droned on. When he'd been married, especially toward the end, he'd done pretty much the same thing; lock up, fall asleep on the couch.

In the darkness, Jim paused in front of his partner's room. The night wrapped comfortably around him, the sounds of the building and his city washing over him and registering on a level he was barely aware of. He opened the French doors softly, then slipped inside. He remained by the door, wanting only to see Blair, to ensure that the younger man was actually asleep. He was. Deeply. Jim hadn't missed the bottle of pills Blair had pulled out of his pocket in the kitchen just before going to bed. Quizzing him about them, he hadn't been surprised at Blair's answer.

"Hard to sleep, Jim. My regular doctor prescribed these as well as a mild painkiller for the headaches. They work. I can close my eyes, and eventually drift off."

Sleeping pills weren't the answer, only a temporary solution. One that Blair couldn't continue for long. They had to find out what was wrong, what was causing this strangeness.

Jim was about to turn away, to leave, when something caught his eye. He froze, frowned, then unbelievably, he squinted. What the hell was that? He blinked, and it, whatever it was, disappeared. Jim tried to reconstruct what he thought he'd seen, but it eluded him. Slowly, and deep in thought, he left Blair's room and headed upstairs.

*****

As Jim prepared for bed, he noticed a coldness in his extremities. He paused in his undressing and started to massage his cold fingers. As he rubbed, the coldness spread.

Okay, what the hell was going on? His stomach clenched and for a moment he thought he might throw up, then everything calmed. But he was still cold and even dialing down did nothing to warm him up. He thought back to the coldness he'd felt around Molly and shook his head. Not the same type of frigidness at all. This wasn't the air _around_ him, this time it was within him.

_He_ was cold.

One half of this partnership was leaning and wavering, the other half—cold. This was not good, as Sandburg would say.

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and contemplated his cold hands and feet. Was this a psychological reaction to Blair's predicament? Could this be a physical problem as a result of something in the air, maybe here in the loft? Like—Radon, or something along those lines? And could it be affecting the two of them differently?

_No, Ellison, you're cold because you're afraid._

Jim Ellison hated inner voices. For one thing, they were always fucking right. Like now. The cold might not be due to any fear on his part, but he _was_ afraid. Deathly afraid.

For weeks, Blair had been sliding away from him and now Blair was truly sliding away. How ironic was that?

Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his fingers again.

Even though he and Sandburg had managed to slip back into a normal routine upon their return from Sierra Verde, their interaction had been far from the classic Ellison-Sandburg camaraderie they'd known before the advent of Alex Barnes into their lives. Their friendship looked and sounded normal to everyone, but in the things that counted, Blair was most definitely absent. He no longer shared himself with Jim, but was still 'there' for Jim.

Blair no longer tried to talk about what had happened, including his death, or as he'd put it with a smile, 'My walk on the wild side'. Jim was now beginning to realize how detrimental this whole 'not talking about it' could be—to both of them. It was simply impractical to believe that two men could go through what they had, then pick up as if nothing had happened. It was also foolish.

Wait.

When his emotions were in turmoil, his senses picked up on it and whacked out. So why couldn't the same thing be happening to Sandburg? The guy had swallowed everything whole, locked it all down tight, and now could be paying the psychological price?

_Okay, then why aren't **you** leaning? _

Just when he was making headway, that damned inner voice had to chime in with its two fucking cents worth.

"So, smarty pants, why do _you_ think Blair is looking at a leaning world, huh?" he asked out loud. He wasn't surprised when he received no answer. Inner voices were great at asking the questions, but fucking lousy at giving answers.

"You're fired," he stated flatly.

As Jim settled into his bed, it hit him that he'd just talked more to himself than to Sandburg in their whole fucking three years together.

With that disgusting thought in mind, he was just about to drift off when an idea hit him. He really should have the loft inspected. Rule out everything so that they'd be left with—left with?

Jim bolted out of bed, ran downstairs and just made it to the bathroom as his stomach gave up dinner.

*****

Waking up from a drugged sleep was not Blair's favorite method of waking. The whole cotton-mouthed thing he had going was disgusting, and the heavy feeling to his limbs did nothing to encourage his crawling out of bed. Taking a piss, on the other hand, was all the encouragement he needed.

Afraid to open his eyes, he struggled up, pushed off the blankets and stood. He swayed a moment, then felt his way around the futon to the French doors. Hand on the knob, he waited, counted to ten, then opened his eyes.

Leaning and wavering and... dots?

Oh goody. Now he had dots too. This was _just_ so typical of his life. Drop another shoe, spill some more milk, break another egg, and rolling stones gathering shit. Or whatever.

Blair made his way to the bathroom. As the dots moved, blocking some of his vision, he smacked into the wall.

"Okay, this is _not_ funny," he said to said wall. He was just taking his next step when Jim's voice rang out from the bedroom above.

"CHIEF? YOU OKAY?"

Blair could hear his partner moving, the bed squeaking, feet hitting the hardwood floors, and, knowing that Jim was on his way down, he said, "I'm fine, Jim. Just fine. I have dots this morning. Isn't that just so cool?"

Blair heard the footsteps stop.

"Dots, Chief?"

Pushing the door of the bathroom open, Blair nodded to himself, "Yep. Dots. And do you know how hard it is to take a piss when everything, including your dick, is leaning?"

Jim was at his side then, hair sticking straight up, face pillow-creased, plaid boxers low on his hips. And because he wasn't leaning, wavering, nor blocked by dots, Jim Ellison was the most beautiful sight in his universe.

"I have just one question, Chief."

"What?" Blair asked, as he lifted the toilet seat up.

"Is your dick and the toilet both leaning to the right?"

Blair frowned, then scratched his butt. "Um, yeah. Everything is leaning to the right."

"Then hitting what you're aiming for shouldn't be too hard. And by the way, did you ever think that maybe this leaning to the right thing was your punishment for years of being the most liberal Democrat God ever created?"

Blair rubbed at his nose. "Mom is the most liberal Democrat ever created by God. And the dots might prevent me from seeing the toilet."

"This is a truly inane conversation, Sandburg."

Blair smiled. "Yeah, it is. And unless you want to see me miss, I suggest you amscray. And close the door after you."

*****

Jim ran his fingers through his hair, then scrubbed them over his jaw. He heard Blair flush, then turn on the faucet. For all their banter, Blair's heart had been pounding double time. He was more frightened this morning than he'd been last night. But hey, so was Jim.

Remembering his last waking thought, Jim walked over to the phone, picked up his personal phone book, rifled through the pages then, finding the number he needed, quickly dialed. He knew he'd get an answering service, and that was okay. At the sound of the beep, he left his message.

"Craig? This is Jim Ellison. Yeah, I know, long time no hear. Look, I need a favor, buddy. I have need of your services and it's an emergency. Call me here at the loft; I'll be here all day. Need you now."

Jim disconnected and prayed Craig Soto would return his call later in the morning.

*****

Blair came out of the bathroom and walked unsteadily toward the dining room table. He pulled out a chair and sank down, then lowered his head into hands. He was getting sick to his stomach.

A warm, squeezing hand on his shoulder brought his head up. "Jim?"

"Who else?" Jim answered with a tender smile. "I take you're not feeling so well this morning?"

"Not really, no. Look, could you, I mean, would you get—from my bedroom, umm, pills—" His voice trailed off, his discomfort at having to ask Jim pretty evident.

"Just tell me where, Chief."

"Backpack. Umm, the Compezine, please?"

Jim moved quickly, and a moment later was pressing the bottle into Blair's hand.

"Hang on, let me get you some juice to take it with."

"Thanks, man."

Jim got some orange juice, set it down, then took the seat next to his partner.

After Blair swallowed the pill and chased it back with the sweet liquid, Jim said, "Tell me exactly what kind of tests the doctor ran, Chief."

Blair waved a hand aimlessly as he said, "Not doctor, Jim. _Doctors_. And between all of them, I had a complete blood work and was even checked for strange parasites. My doctor and I both thought I might have picked up something." At a questioning look from Jim, Blair added, "You know, expeditions, third world countries, Peru, that kind of thing."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, so pretty thorough medical exams."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah. _Very_ thorough."

"All right then, I think it's time we looked at external possibilities. I have a call into a friend with the City. I'm going to have the loft checked out."

Blair turned in his seat to stare at his friend. "Excuse me?"

"The loft. There could be a noxious substance, like Radon or something. He can test the air, and so on."

"Jim, if there was something here, you'd be—"

"Tell me I don't have to explain to _you_ about me and my senses? I could be compensating, right?"

Blair's brow creased with thought. Finally he said uneasily, "I suppose so." Then his expression brightened. "Hey, if there _is_ something wrong with the loft and you _are_ compensating, that's going to open up a whole new—"

Laughing, Jim held up his hand. "Whoa, Einstein, let's not get ahead of ourselves. One step at a time, okay?"

Blair took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Right. Of course."

"You hungry, Chief?"

Blair shook his head, his eyes on his non-leaning partner. He didn't for a minute believe that the problem was here in the loft. The problem was in his mind and he needed to face up to it. But first — hey, it couldn't hurt to rule out everything before declaring himself insane, right? Right.

"Well, I'm going to fix a little something, since we're both up. Maybe by the time it's ready, that pill will have kicked in and you'll be able to eat."

Jim pushed away from the table and ambled into the kitchen, totally unaware that he was still in nothing by his boxers. Blair was very glad that Jim wasn't leaning. It gave him a perfectly legitimate reason for looking.

He looked.

*****

Jim was just whisking the eggs with sour cream and chives when the phone rang. Hoping that it was Craig, he beat Blair to the phone.

"Ellison."

_"Jimbo, how ya doing?"_

With a sigh of relief, Jim smiled, then said, "Fine, Craig, fine. You're up early on a Saturday morning."

_"Hey, I run now. Gotta keep in shape, you know. Getting married in two months."_

"So I heard, and congratulations."

_"Thanks. So what's your problem?"_

Jim glanced over at his partner, who was watching him, his head tilted slightly.

"Well, we're experiencing some strange — odd — symptoms here and I'm hoping you might do a little check of the place? Test the air, that kind of thing?"

_"Can you be more specific?"_

"Vision problems, for one. Doctors have ruled out illnesses."

"Okay, there are several environmental issues that come to mind. Do you have an air conditioning unit?"

"No, why?"

"Freon can leak out and cause all types of problems. Could be happening with your refrigerator. You live in a building that was converted to apartments, right?"

"Yes. It used to belong to Wicker Crafts. When they outgrew the space, they built their new building over on Fremont. Cappy Wicker sold this place to his daughter, Colette, who owns the dress shop on the ground floor. She did the conversion."

"Okay, could be another source for environmental problems. Let me get my morning schedule settled and I'll drop by around one?"

"One would be great, Craig. And thanks."

"Hey, I owe you big time. See you at one."

Jim said his goodbye, then hung up. Oddly enough, the conversation with Craig actually made him feel hopeful. Very hopeful. It really could be environmental. He turned back to Blair. "Well, you heard. He'll be here at one."

"It sounded as though he had some definite ideas."

Jim smiled. "He does. You just might be forced to run a whole slew of new tests on me, Chief."

"I hope so, Jim. I hope so."

They both understood what Blair meant. Testing Jim because he hadn't succumbed to whatever was going on in the loft was infinitely better than Blair's being insane.

*****

Craig Soto closed up his case and placed it on the floor. He picked up his clipboard, made a few notes, then turned to face his friend. "Clean bill of health, Jim. Surprisingly clean, by the way."

Jim did a remarkable job of hiding his disappointment. Blair simply turned, walked over to the balcony, then stepped out and shut the window after him.

"Is he okay?" Craig indicated Sandburg with a nod of his head.

"He's—we were hoping —"

"Jim, what's going on? Just how bad are your symptoms?"

"It's like I said. Our vision has been off, so to speak."

Craig stared hard at his friend, then nodded slowly. "Okay, Jim. Understood. Whatever the problem, it isn't in your environment. At least, not here."

Not here.

An idea burst forth in Jim's brain.

"Okay, what about Rainier University?"

"Rainier? Jim, I'm not getting the connection."

"That's where Blair works. He's an anthropologist and a TA at the university."

"But you're not, Jim."

"No, I'm not."

Craig glanced out at the lone figure on the balcony, and nodded again. "I see. If he's an anthropologist, then he's in Hargrove Hall, right?"

Jim nodded.

"Then it's not Rainier. The older buildings were tested months ago when the U received that huge donation from the Willoughby family. Hastings Hall and MacInnes Hall were the only older structures that had any environmental problems. They both underwent a complete overhaul and facelift. Hargrove Hall received a clean bill of health. And before you ask, same with the PD."

Jim's heart sank. He rallied long enough to thank Craig. They spoke for a few more minutes before Craig left.

After Jim shut the door behind Soto, he walked over to the window, but didn't open it right away, preferring to stand a moment and watch his friend. He suspected that Blair needed some time to deal. He knew he did.

*****

Blair didn't feel the coldness of the railing beneath his fingers, nor the frigid air blowing over his vulnerable skin. He kept his eyes closed, mostly due to the fact that it was easier seeing leaning dots and dashes behind closed lids then a leaning, wavering, dot-ridden Cascade.

As he listened to the sounds of Prospect, he acknowledged to himself that next up was a psychiatrist.

Bound to happen, right? Which one of Naomi's boyfriends had called him 'high strung and ready to snap'? Oh, yeah, Boyd. Boyd Kildare.

Blair had always been certain that his mother had dated the man strictly based on the guy's last name. She'd always been crazy about Doctor Kildare. And hadn't _that_ craziness been the cause of the worst six months in Blair's life, if one didn't count the _last_ six months? Oh, yeah.

Blair could hear Boyd now —

_"Naomi, that boy has problems. He needs help. **Professional** help." _

That had been the constant refrain from a guy named Kildare. No play-offs or World Series' with that guy. Nuh-uh. Just weird looks and snide asides to his mother and anyone else who would listen. Something brushed up against Blair and he jerked himself back to the present.

"Jim? What did—" Blair turned to find that he was alone. Completely alone. He frowned, then let his gaze roam over the small balcony, the small leaning, wavering, dotted balcony. But nothing was there. Just him, some plants, a couple of spindly chairs and a small table. Like always.

His gaze drifted back to the windows. He could see Jim walking toward him, two steaming mugs in his hands. Blair pushed the window open and, as Jim walked through, he handed off one of the mugs.

"Thought you could use this. I know I can."

"Thanks, man," Blair said as he took the hot cup. He took a careful sip, then said, "So. No leaking fumes, Radon or Freon."

"Afraid not, Chief. Hargrove Hall is clean too, as is the PD."

"Well, we kind of suspected that, didn't we?"

Jim didn't answer. He didn't need to.

"So, come Monday, I'll call a friend of a friend and get the name of a good psychiatrist."

"Chief, I just don't think that's the answer, okay?"

"Don't you, Jim? It's been a rough few months; some people could tell you that I've never been exactly stable, so why not a psychiatrist? Wouldn't be the first time, you know?"

"So you've mentioned before. And for your information, I didn't believe you then, and I don't believe you now."

Blair smiled oddly as he looked up at his non-leaning, non-wavering partner. "You didn't believe me?"

"No, I didn't. You were trying to convince me to let you talk with Joel and it's been my experience that when you want something, you tend to maneuver the facts, or if lacking facts, to make them up. Obfuscating, remember? Male bonding and all that shit?"

"I fudged to Joel about conquering my fear of heights, nothing else, Jim."

"Are you telling me that you actually did see therapists when you were a kid?"

Blair's gaze drifted away as he nodded. "I…see, I had…there was this problem…oh, shit." Blair swiped a hand over his face, then resigned to revealing a piece of his past, said, "Look, when I was four, I was diagnosed with Leukemia, okay? I spent weeks and — thanks to several setbacks — months in and out of the hospital. Mom went quietly crazy, her current boyfriend took a deep six, and surprise, surprise, I ended up with..." Blair made little quote marks in the air, "issues. When I finally went into remission, Mom thought it was over. Ha-ha. Not so.

"After the remission was confirmed, we moved into phase two; something called Consolidation Therapy. Mom was so not prepared for that. When I was finally pronounced completely well, I had a few difficulties adjusting to being a healthy child again. Not to mention a shit-load of guilt. Hence the —"

"Therapists?"

"You got it. Not that this little sob story of mine has anything to do with what's happening now, other than to make the point that me and mental health experts are no strangers. So I call, and that's that."

"Chief, I find that I really need to sit down. Let's take this inside, okay?"

Blair nodded and followed Jim inside. He took the yellow chair as Jim lowered himself onto the couch.

"I can't believe you never told me, Blair."

Voice devoid of emotion, he answered, "It's not the kind of thing that comes up in introductions, Jim. Or any other kind of conversation, you know?"

"Certainly explains a lot about your mother, I'll give you that."

Blair fingered a strand of hair and said thoughtfully, "Used to be straight, until the chemotherapy. It grew back curly. Weird."

Jim stared at Blair's finger as he twirled the hair around it. For a split second, he could actually see the sick and defenseless pre-school Blair. He could see the small boy fighting a disease he couldn't hope to understand as it invaded his body and robbed him of a good chunk of his childhood.

Jim felt a lump in his throat and a burning behind his eyes. Angrily, he blinked hard as he wondered if Blair would ever stop surprising him?

Gathering himself together, Jim said quietly, "Okay, so you've seen psychologists. I still don't think what's happening to you now is mental, Chief. Something else is going on and we need to find out what."

"Jim, it's getting worse," Blair said matter-of-factly.

"All right, it's getting worse. We deal with that. You're seeing dots now too." Jim stood up and started to pace. Finally he said, "What we need to do is look at anything odd or out of the ordinary that's occurred to either one of us."

Slowly, Blair grinned. "Jim, you sound like me."

"Yeah, well, things rub off, you know? So come on, let's put our heads together and see what we come up with. Hell, I'll even go first. Last night."

Blair tilted his head. "Last night?"

"Yeah. Something odd happened. I thought I saw a shape, a kind of wavering shape, when I was locking up. Then it disappeared and I figured I was seeing things."

Jim sat down and waited for the usual, "Why didn't you tell me?" explosion. It never came. Instead, Blair said thoughtfully, "Before you joined me on the balcony, I felt something brush past me. I thought it was you so I turned around, but there was nothing there."

Jim stared at his roommate and partner. Wavering shadows and something brushing past Sandburg. Well, well. "O-kay," he said, "so... no psychiatrist. Something else is going on, right?"

A glimmer of hope made itself known in the blue eyes staring back at him. "I — maybe, Jim. Maybe."

Latching onto Blair's 'maybe' like a dog with a bone, Jim added, "And it probably has something to do with us. A Sentinel thing. I think there might be enough evidence to support that theory. After all, I'm still not leaning, wavering or covered with dots, right?"

Blair nodded uneasily.

"So, doesn't it figure —"

"Not necessarily, Jim. As a Sentinel, who knows what energy you give off that might be radically different from the rest of us?"

"But wouldn't that mean that we're dealing with something physical and not mental? No matter what auras I'm giving off, they'd hardly be affecting the mental process."

"Chemistry, Jim. Many mental disorders are chemical, and as a Sentinel, you might be giving off some form of energy that balances my currently unbalanced chemistry."

"Okay, if I'm giving off some kind of energy field, why wouldn't, say, this couch," Jim patted the cushion next to him, "not be wavering? Surely it's within range of any energy I'm giving off?"

Blair looked carefully at everything around Jim, and it was all leaning, wavering and filled with dots.

Everything except Jim himself.

It was almost as if Jim was an anchor. But to what?

"Blair? What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure. But you're right. The cushion is still leaning, as is everything around you." He rubbed at his temples and grimaced in pain. "It's really bad right now, man. The pain, I mean."

Jim quickly stood and headed for the kitchen and Blair's medications. "You need rest, Chief. We can puzzle this out later, okay?"

Palming his eyes, Blair nodded. When Jim returned with the pills and water, he swallowed them, then gulped down the cool liquid. "I'm sorry," he said, as he put the glass down. "You have enough to deal with on a daily basis, you sure don't need all this, man."

"Enough of that, Sandburg. We're partners, okay? Now let's get you to bed."

Blair smiled at the gruff sentimentality of Jim Ellison in action. Shaking his head, Blair said, "If you don't mind, I think I'll just lie down in here. My room gets kind of claustrophobic when it's leaning, you know?"

"No problem. Come on over here and get comfortable."

A moment later, Blair was on the sofa, head pillowed on Jim's thigh. He figured this kind of opportunity wasn't going to come around very often, so why not take advantage when it did? He let his eyes flutter shut as the medication started working. His last conscious thought was that for now, it felt good to trust Jim.

*****

As Blair's breathing evened out, Jim rested his hand on the younger man's head. He slowly wove his fingers through the mass of curls and waves, the softness of Blair's hair entrancing him. Fascinated, he watched the curls playing with his fingers, latching on and winding around them, almost alive in their tenacity. His stomach suddenly clenched from the fear he'd been holding back that, with a sleeping Blair in his lap, had returned with a vengeance.

On a level he didn't fully understand, Jim recognized that whatever they were dealing with, it was considerably more involved than any kind of mental illness. Something else was at work here, and if they couldn't figure it out — Jim knew on a gut level that he would lose Blair.

With his mind reeling with that thought, he sought refuge in another subject, but all that came to Jim was the vision of the four-year old Blair — ill and scared, and probably so very brave. He pictured the junior version of Blair holding back for the sake of his mother, giving her a smile when all he wanted to do was cry and bury himself in her arms.

Would Naomi have known? Had she taken him into her arms and rocked him gently while murmuring sweet nonsensical words into his ear? Had she done everything she could to keep the pain away? To take his mind from it? Or had she buried herself like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand?

"Aw, God, Blair. I'd give anything to have been there. Anything."

You're here now, Enqueri.

Jim's head shot up as Incacha's voice entered his mind.

_You must abandon your old ways, Enqueri. You must remember all that you learned in the Temple if you are to save him._

"Incacha?" Jim whispered.

You must remember, my friend.

The trusted voice faded and Jim knew instinctively that Incacha was gone. If he'd ever been here to begin with.

"Jesus, maybe we're both going insane, Chief."

*****

Since his world had started leaning, Blair had slept without dreams, if he slept at all. But…this… this had to be a dream.

Blair gazed about him and had to blink several times to understand what he was seeing. It was like being surrounded by — graph paper.

Lines intersected all around him and, as he held up one hand, he realized the lines were going through him too. Oddly enough, if he squinted past the 'graph paper', he could make out the outlines of his home. Granted, the world outside the lines looked gray, but he could clearly identify the loft.

In an attempt to find Jim, he turned his head. Relief flooded through him because Jim was on the couch, solid and real, his blue shirt very blue, his jeans very denim. No gray for Jim, no sirree.

And yet —

Oh God. Blair could see himself asleep, head pillowed in Jim's lap, and he was gray, just like the couch and everything else. Blair had a sudden unreasoning fear that if Jim didn't take his hand, connect with him in some way, Blair would be lost.

"Blair? Can you hear me?"

He whirled around. There, on the fringes of the gray loft, stood a dark shifting shape. Blair squinted again, but in spite of his curiosity, he stayed right where he was. An inner sense told him that if he moved, it would be the wrong move.

"I hear you," he said warily.

"Could you come closer? I can barely see you."

Blair willed the hand resting on Jim's denim-clad thigh to grip it, hoping that the move would anchor him to his own world.

"No, I'm not going to come closer. Who are you?"

"A friend. Just a friend. But I can't come to you — yet, and I need your help."

Blair cocked his head. "My help? How can I help you? Not that it matters, since this whole thing is a dream."

"Blair, you know it's not a dream. You _know_ that. This is the world you're slipping into. This is my world. And you _can_ help me. In fact, I suspect that you're the only person anywhere who could."

A coldness gripped Blair as the man's words dropped like stones into his heart. It was true. This wasn't a dream.

He willed the fingers of the sleeping Blair to dig in even deeper, probably bruising Jim. Blair honestly didn't care because those fingers gripping Jim's thigh were only thing keeping him where he was.

Wait. That meant —

"No, I'm not in your world yet. Am I?"

The dark shadow shimmered, then solidified and moved closer. Blair wanted to move away, but that might mean that he'd have to relinquish his hold on Jim, and he had no intention of doing that.

He waited.

The shadow stopped.

"What do you mean by 'my world', Blair?"

"I mean, if this isn't a dream, then this is something else," Blair said, as if that explained everything. Which he knew damn well it didn't.

"Cleverly worded," the shadow said, its smile evident in its tone.

"Look, make this easy on both of us and just tell me what the hell is going on, okay?"

"I can do that. Tell me what you see when you look around."

"I suspect that would be an exercise in futility. You already know what I see."

"You're wrong, I don't. Tell me."

Blair's eyes narrowed in thought. The shadow's words held the ring of truth, which meant — what?

"Tell me, Blair," the soft enticing voice came again. "What do you see?"

_He needs to know,_ Blair thought. _He **needs** to know._ Something told Blair that was not a good thing.

"I don't see much. Shadows, nothing else," Blair lied.

The shadow shimmered and wavered, then once again darkened into a solid mass. It moved closer still and Blair could make out the features of a man. Tall, well-built, chiseled features — not unlike Jim. Blair couldn't see things like hair or eye color yet, and to be honest, he hoped he never would. He suspected that if he did, it would mean that he'd lost whatever the hell battle this was.

"Who are you?" he asked again, his voice stronger, more demanding.

"I'm... a Sentinel, Blair.

*****

Jim felt his legs going to sleep and, to add to the discomfort, he badly needed to take a leak. He gazed down at his sleeping partner and debated the wisdom of moving. At that moment, Blair's hand gripped his thigh, soliciting a moan from Jim.

What the hell? The fingers tightened their grip and Jim winced. Frowning, he placed his hand over Blair's cheek and was surprised to find the flesh cool to the touch — too cool.

"Sandburg? Wake up." Jim shook him lightly, then said, "Come on, Chief, up and at 'em. Rise and shine."

When nothing happened, Jim shook with greater strength. "Blair, you need to wake up right now, okay? Can you hear me? Wake up, please?"

*****

A voice. A sense of urgency. Blair tore his eyes from the shadowy man and gazed over at Jim. Damn, he looked worried. What was he saying? That Blair had to wake up? Sounded damn good to him.

"Blair, wait, don't go. Didn't you hear me?"

*****

"... hear me? Come on, Chief, please?"

Blair moaned, his eyelids fluttered, then opened. "Jim?"

"Thank God. You okay, Blair?"

Blair sat up slowly. He rubbed a hand over his face, then looked down. His other hand was gripping Jim's leg — hard. He yanked it away, then said, "Oh, man, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"Not so bad that this macho man can't handle it," Jim said with a relieved smile. "You had me worried there. I couldn't wake you."

"How long was I asleep?"

"About three hours, maybe longer. You sure you're okay? Your skin was very cold. That's what worried me."

"Wow, now that you mention it, I'm freezing." Blair started to rub his hands up and down his arms.

Jim pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and dropped it carefully over him, then got up. "I'm going to make you some tea, okay? Warm you up. How's the headache?"

"Barely there. Feel better."

"Vision?" Jim asked as he filled the kettle with water and took down one of Blair's Peruvian teas.

"Same."

"Except when you look at me?"

Blair smiled. "Yeah, except when I look at you."

"Blair, something happened while you were asleep. I think I'm going to need some of your relaxation techniques."

Sandburg stared at Jim, who was deliberately _not_ looking at him. He got off the couch, swayed a bit, then made his way to the kitchen. He placed one hand on Jim's arm, silently asking him to look at him.

"Jim? What?"

Jim took a spoon out of the drawer and dropped it into the mug as he said, "Incacha. I heard his voice. He says I need to remember — what I saw in the Temple."

"This happens out of the clear blue, man?"

The kettle blew and for the next couple of minutes Jim was busy preparing the tea. When it was done, he picked up the mug, put his hand on Blair's neck and guided him into the living room.

"Sit, drink, get warm, then we'll talk some more about Incacha."

Shaking his head in disbelief at Jim's priorities, Blair blew on his tea, then took a careful sip. The warm brew felt terrific going down and he could already feel his body starting to thaw out. As he took another sip, he watched Jim start to knead his thigh.

"Damn, I hurt you, didn't I?"

"I think we've had this conversation, Sandburg. Don't worry about it. Although, I can't help but wonder — were you having a nightmare?"

Forehead creasing in thought, Blair shook his head. "Not that I can remember, no. Probably just stress."

"So I'm a stress-buster now, am I?"

Blair smiled over his tea. "Guess so."

Jim smiled back gently. "I don't mind in the least, buddy."

"So, tell me about Incacha, and why now?"

Jim glanced away as he said, "It's about you. He said I need to remember —"

"Yeah, yeah, what you saw in the Temple. But I thought that would be a bad thing? That you're not supposed to remember."

"I'm guessing that I guessed wrong."

"So how does remembering what happened in the Temple help me? Not to mention, why would Incacha care? And no, I didn't mean it like that. I meant, why —"

Laughing, Jim shook his head and held up a hand. "I get it, Sandburg. And we won't know how remembering will help until I, you know, remember."

"Good point — asshole." Blair's grin took any sting out of his name-calling.

"You know, it's amazing to me that you didn't even blink when I said Incacha had spoken to me. Would anything surprise you, ever?"

This time it was Blair who looked away. "Oh, there are a couple of things that — if they happened — would surprise the hell out of me."

"Let me guess — Jags winning the NBA."

Grinning, Blair said, "That's one of them, all right."

*****

"Okay, where do we start?"

"Pull the shades, Jim."

Jim did as he was told, and when the last shade was down, said, "Now what?"

"Candles. You know where I keep them."

"How many?"

"Five or six. Set them on the coffee table, then sit down next to me."

The tea was history and both warmth and color had returned to Blair's face and body. They'd decided it was time to try and help Jim remember.

Jim came out of Blair's room carrying the candles, which he set up as Blair instructed. Straightening, Jim asked with a nervous smile, "I suppose you're gonna want me to light them now, right?"

"Oh, gosh no, Jim. We'll just let them decorate our little experiment."

"I just love playing straight man to your Lewis, Sandburg."

Jim walked over to the fireplace and picked up the long tube of matches. It took him a couple of minutes to light the fragrant candles, but when he was done, he sat down.

Blair gave a low whistle. "Man, you are, like, _so_ relaxed. Think we could let up on our jaw crunching, Conan?"

"Look Chief, I'm not sure I _want_ to remember what I saw in that damn pool, but Incacha says that I need to if I'm going to help you, so let's just get on with it, okay?"

Blair cocked his head. "Umm, maybe you'd better tell me exactly what Incacha said?"

Jim slid down, his shoulders hunching forward. Blair recognized the posture for what it was — Jim in his denial mode. He simply waited the man out and it paid off. After a couple of silent minutes, Jim said quietly, "He said I had to abandon my old ways and remember what I learned in the Temple if I was going to sa— help — you."

Blair studied his friend for a moment, then said softly, "Save me. That's what he said, 'save' me, right? Not help, but save."

Grudgingly, Jim nodded, his eyes focused on his hands, which were kneading his thighs.

"I'll take all that as a sure sign that I'm not the one going insane, you are."

Jim's head shot up and his eyes locked onto Blair's — who was grinning, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Asshole," Jim said, lips twitching.

For a moment, they stared at each other, grins playing about their mouths, reveling in the sweet moment of normalcy. Then Blair brought them back by asking, "I wonder what he meant by you needing to give up your old ways?"

"This is Incacha we're talking about, Chief. Even when he was alive, he talked in riddles. Now the riddles are just worse."

Blair turned, faced Jim, then brought his legs up and crossed them Indian style. He propped his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hand. "I'm thinking — you weren't supposed to forget what you learned in the pool, Jim. That maybe that's what Incacha was saying. You know how you are. When you hear something you don't want to hear, you, like, shove it into the darkest recesses of your mind, lock the door and throw out the key."

"I don't."

"You do. And the candles are melting, so maybe we'd better get started, okay?"

What Blair didn't say was that his headache was coming back — with a vengeance.

"No I don't, and okay. I suppose you want me to close my eyes?"

"Please."

Jim rested his head back and, like so many times before, closed his eyes and left his mind in Sandburg's hands.

"Take a deep breath, Jim — yeah, like that — hold it — good, now let it out slowly, slowly, slowly —"

Blair's voice commanded, relaxed and, ultimately, soothed him. He took several more deep breaths and felt the tension melt away. He could sense the warmth of the candles, see their ethereal glow, smell their soft, forgiving fragrance — and he was drifting —

"You're in the pool, Jim. Your eyes are closed and you can't feel, see, or hear anything. You're at peace, comfortable, open, receptive —"

*****

_— bombs exploded and the gunfire nearly drove him insane. Bodies fell, first Simon, then Connor. Cars collided, smashing into each other, metal tore, then more gunfire and more explosions — and — Blair's — body was falling. But then it was Blair shooting, but that scene was soon eclipsed by Blair standing on the roof of a car, gun in hand — and he was falling, landing in Jim's arms, and Jim could hear his own voice yelling, "THAT'S NOT ME!"_

Blair's headache was already excruciating so Jim's yell simply dug the razors deeper into his skull. It felt as though his eyes were throbbing in time with every heartbeat. All he wanted to close them, then lie down and never wake up.

But Jim needed him.

Somehow he managed to grasp Jim's arm and to speak. "Jim? Jim, man, what are you talking about? Do you remember what happened now?"

When there was no response, Blair realized that Jim was still deep in a meditative state. He ran his hand soothingly up and down Jim's arm as he crooned softly, "It's okay, you're safe, just let go. What you see is in the past, Jim. It can't hurt you. You're safe."

*****

Soft words eased Jim back into the Temple. Somehow, he knew he was safe and, where his memories had been nothing but a jumbled mess, he found that now he could sort through them, put them in order, and follow their progression.

_First up — the rainforest and his first dream as he slept a few feet from Sandburg and Connor —_

_"Jim found himself walking through the forest. Up ahead, a bright light guided him, a light that suddenly dissolved into the man who had guided him in Peru — Incacha._

_**Finally, you have come.** _

_"How am I seeing you?"_

_**My body may be dead but my spirit lives within you. Your journey has been long, now you must face your most difficult trial.** _

_"It's as if I have no control over my feelings."_

_**Power can lead to truth or corruption, you must choose your path. But you must go alone. The danger you face is not to be shared by your friends.** _

_"How will I know the right path?"_

_**You already do.** _

_Jim woke up knowing that he had to leave Sandburg and Connor and make his way to the Temple._

_Next up; the pools. Jim took a deep breath, uncertain if he could do this._

*****

The stabbing pain abated slightly as Jim, still deep within his memories, began to speak. Blair leaned in and listened to the soft voice, trying to make sense of the words. He touched Jim's face, almost as if trying to reassure Jim, or both of them, that they were safe, that it was okay for Jim to remember.

Blair ran his thumb across Jim's moving lower lip and the frown on Jim's face eased. Blair went back to listening...

*****

_The temperature of the pool was extremely comfortable and natural, the water almost soothing. As he floated, he could remember Alex's kiss and he wanted nothing more than to spit out her taste. He floated, feeling nothing, hearing nothing, smelling nothing. Suddenly he was surrounded by a shimmering circular blue light, like — an eye. A blue eye._

_He could hear his own voice —_

_"My obligation is to help the people."_

_He could see the Chopec and another Ranger saying, "They could have killed us if they wanted to," and then — Blair's voice —_

_"You could be the real thing. Now I know about your time spent in Peru."_

_Jim clung to voice, then cringed as another Sentinel asked him, "Are you prepared to make such a journey?"_

_Jim threw back his head and howled an agonized, "NONONONO!"_

_Jim felt something warm and alive trace along his lower lip and he relaxed. More words and memories flowed._

_Violence, so much violence. Connor is falling, Simon, oh God, Simon, shot and going down. Self-hatred filled him and he screamed for salvation._

_"INCACHA, HELP ME!"_

_**Why do you call me?** _

_"I'm losing my mind."_

_**Do not be afraid to walk through your dreams. You must allow your spirit to speak.** _

_"But all I see is death in my dreams."_

_**If there is darkness, you must face it. The darkness will flee from the light, but the light must shine from within. I can not bring it to you.** _

_As Incacha's voice faded, Blair's face appeared shimmering in the blue light, smiling, trusting, and guiding. Jim latched onto that smile as he heard Incacha ask, "What do you seek?"_

_Suddenly Jim was in the forest again, bow and arrow at the ready. Jim saw himself let loose with the arrow, and he followed it, watched in horror as it pierced the wolf, killing it — killing Blair._

_Incacha's voice filled his senses again —_

_**What do you fear?** _

_Blair, he was surrounded by Blair. Explosions and pain, all heaped on Blair. Over and over again, Blair was being hurt._

_"He's gone."_

_"JIM!"_

_"You let him die."_

_Jim threw back his head and yelled to heavens —_

*****

"THIS IS NOT ME!"

Jim's yell once again reverberated throughout the loft and sent Blair over the edge. His head seemed to explode in pain and with a small gasp; he fell forward, his body falling onto Jim's.

*****

_The blue light disappeared and was replaced in Jim's mind by a ferocious, shimmering umber. He shivered, as the color seemed to surround him, hating its touch on his sensitive skin. He blinked in his dream, or memory, or wherever he was, and the walls, for he could see walls now, seemed to be — leaning._

_Leaning._

_Firelight flickered over the stonewalls and they too seemed to be leaning. And — wavering. Jim tried to look beyond the golden umber colors but could see only — gray._

*****

Simon looked up at Jim's balcony, then down at both the truck and the Volvo. Okay, so they were home. Not answering the damn phone, but home.

Simon headed inside.

Stepping out of the elevator on three, he heard Jim yelling. The sound was enough to encourage Simon to draw his gun. He moved toward the door, listened, and hearing nothing else, moved to the right of number 307 and knocked.

*****

Jim's eyes popped open. He looked around him, and sighed in relief.

The loft.

He was home. No orange walls, no leaning or wavering anything. The candles had melted down by half, their wax dripping and pooling on the coffee table. A weight on his lap caused him to glance down.

Blair.

Asleep.

A knock on the door startled him. He put his hands on Blair's shoulders and once again found himself shaking the younger man awake. "Come on, Sandburg, we have company. From the smell of cigars, it's Simon."

Nothing.

Jim frowned in consternation as his hands roamed over the still body. Cold. Much colder than last time. He pressed two fingers against Sandburg's carotid and his expression went from concerned to panicked. The pulse was sluggish — very sluggish.

Lifting carefully, he moved Sandburg so that he could get up, then rested the limp figure back down. He made certain that Blair's head was cushioned; then and only then did he move quickly to the door to let Simon in.

*****

The door was thrown open and a very haggard Jim Ellison stood in front of Simon, gesturing wildly.

"In, quick." Jim immediately turned away.

Confused, Simon followed and watched as Jim squatted down in front of the couch. He craned his neck and spotted a sleeping Sandburg.

"Jim?"

"He's passed out. I can't get him to respond."

Simon, puzzled but not yet worried, looked at the array of candles and quipped, "How many hours this time? Did he beat Naomi's record?"

Voice husky with fear, Jim said, "He wasn't the one meditating, I was."

Simon stepped closer to the couch and immediately shivered. "Damn, it's cold over here. Jim, what the hell is going on?"

Jim had been in the process of covering Blair when Simon spoke. He looked up, brow creased. "What do you mean, 'it's cold'?"

"It's like a freezer over here, that's what I mean. And _what is_ going on?"

"Grab Sandburg's quilt off his bed, Simon. I need to warm him up. And hurry."

Simon huffed impatiently, but moved quickly into Sandburg's room. It was dark and he had to turn on the light. As he took the couple of steps to the bed, he realized that he'd never seen more than brief glimpses of Blair's room. It was surprisingly clean, surprisingly organized, in an artifact kind of way. The room was also warm and inviting, the color scheme soothing and attractive.

Books filled a beautiful six-tiered shelf that stood against the same wall as Sandburg's bed. His desk was much smaller than Simon would have imagined, but it certainly explained why the kid used the dining room table so often. Simon also had a much clearer idea of the hows and whys regarding the transformation of Jim's loft.

As Simon grabbed the colorful South American-style comforter, he remembered the loft of three years ago, stark and almost colorless. Now it matched this room, vibrant and full of life.

Simon hurried out to the living room.

*****

Gray again. Shit. Blair gazed around him and cringed.

Darker gray, lines more pronounced, the loft, a barely-there shadow, the colors nearly drained. But the most frightening thing of all was that Jim was now a fuzzy figure that he couldn't seem to grasp a hold of.

This was not good.

"I think you're here to stay this time," a disembodied voice said from a dark corner. Blair whirled around and once again watched as the shadow separated itself.

Aw, God, the shadow was gaining color. Reddish brown hair. The shadow had reddish brown hair. And, and —

FUCK!

Green eyes.

He wanted out. He wanted home. He wanted Jim.

"I couldn't really tell the color of your eyes before, but now I can. Blue. Very blue. I like them."

"I want out of here. Now."

The man, the 'Sentinel', shrugged helplessly. "I don't think you _can_ get out now. You've been slipping into my world for several weeks."

"Your world? _YOUR_ world? I want _my_ world. I don't belong here."

"I think you do, Blair. Hey, I was as surprised as you when I first began catching glimpses of you. Then the glimpses grew and I heard your voice for the first time. I can't even begin to say what it did for me, how it made me feel. You have a beautiful voice, Blair."

"It's a voice, just a fucking voice." Blair, feeling bolder, took several steps toward the man, and with hands balled into fists, said, "You brought me here, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"

The man shook his head sadly. "No, Blair, I didn't. But I'm glad you're here. I've been lonely and I need someone like you. I need _you_."

"Guess what, buddy? You can't have me. I don't know what's going on, but Jim will find a way —"

"Jim sent you here," the man interrupted, his voice and words chilling Blair's heart.

*****

"God, his face, it's like — ice."

Jim nodded and continued to rub up and down the length of Blair's body. Gazing at the lashes resting against pale cheeks, he said, "He's so still, Simon. He was holding onto me last time, but now —"

"Last time?" Simon asked from where he was kneeling on the floor.

"Headaches, he's been having headaches. And... vision problems."

Simon looked up at his friend and cursed. "Why didn't you say something? We should get him to the hospital, Jim."

Jim shook his head. "No. No. This is — this is — about us. It's Sentinel related, somehow." Jim brushed some hair from Blair's face as he held him even tighter.

"We were, he was trying to help me remember the Temple. What I saw in the Temple, so that I could — we could — help stop this, thing, whatever it is."

"Maybe you'd better start at the beginning, Jim."

*****

Eyes glittering dangerously, Blair advanced on the other Sentinel. "What do you mean, 'Jim sent me here'?"

"He turned away from you. From himself. That allowed this to happen."

**"BULLSHIT!"**

*****

_Bullshit!_

Jim's head shot up. "What? _What_?"

"Jim, what is it?"

"I heard — I heard — Blair's voice." Eyes wide, Jim stared down at the still form in his arms. How was it possible for him to have heard Blair?

"Look, I don't know as I — believe any of this, not that I have a choice, but Jim, this is like he's in a coma. We can't just sit here and let this happen. We need to take him —"

"NO!" Jim yelled. He immediately regretted his outburst and said more calmly, "I can't explain it, Simon. But if we move him from here, we take away the only anchor he may have. I just need — time. I need to put this altogether in my mind, that's all."

Simon rose from the yellow chair he'd taken when Jim had started talking and removed his suit jacket. He let it drop onto the back of the chair then, loosening his tie, said, "Okay, let's take a look at this whole thing, then. Hell, we're detectives, we can do this."

Looking up at his boss and friend with a grim smile, Jim said dryly, "Shouldn't you roll up your shirt sleeves too?"

Simon started rolling up his shirtsleeves.

*****

The man held up his hands in supplication. "Hey, don't get mad at me. I'm just the news bearer."

"Bullshit," Blair said more quietly. "You're full of it. I don't know why I'm here, but I can damn well tell you that Jim isn't the reason. That's just plain hogwash. We're not — this isn't some — this isn't some mystic game, whoever you are. There is something seriously wrong and you're just taking advantage."

"He turned away from you in the hospital, didn't he? Then again in Sierra Verde. He chose the other one, the other Sentinel. He chose her over you."

Blair smiled. "Is that supposed to make me mad? Hurt me? I know Jim Ellison, you don't. He didn't turn away from anything in the hospital; there was nothing to turn from. And as for Alex, she needed his help. She was like him, something he'd never —"

"You're lying to yourself, Blair. You told him about your vision at the fountain and he shared with you the same one — then he walked away. Went after her. _Chose_ her."

*****

"Simon, we may be detectives, but you barely accept the whole Sentinel thing now. You think you're up for more? You think you're prepared to go where you've never gone before?"

Simon looked down at the sleeping — unconscious — Sandburg. Hadn't he been on a pretty strange journey for three years? Hadn't he allowed Jim and Blair to take him places he hadn't wanted to go? Does Molly ring a bell?

Hadn't he witnessed a bona fide miracle at the fountain? A miracle that could only be laid at the door of Jim's Sentinel world? Yes. And was he going to let anything happen to Sandburg? No.

"I'm ready to go wherever we need to in order to get that man to wake up and see the world as it was meant to be seen. Are you, Jim?"

*****

Blair felt his legs weaken, and since he was somewhere between his home and _somewhere_ , he simply sat down. He crossed his legs and dropped his face into his hands.

No way could he explain Alex to this — this — whatever. He understood, he'd never put it into words, but he understood. He and Jim had never discussed it — any of it — but he'd understood.

Blair sensed movement on the part of the man and he scooted back. Glancing up, he found himself staring into strange green eyes.

"You need to accept the fact that Jim Ellison, Holy Grail Supreme, abandoned you. And now, you're here."

Blair scooted away from the man and the hand. "You seem to know an awful lot about us, whoever you are."

"Charles. Charles Duquett. Captain, United States Marines. Glad to meet you."

The hand that had almost touched his shoulder was now waving in front of his face. Blair had no intention of shaking it. He moved further away. "Marine?"

Duquett nodded. "Lifer. Well, until I died."

Blair looked away, tried to make out his home, but could barely discern the outline of the couch. He sighed, then said, "I don't care how, or why. I don't care who you are, or why you're here. I just want to go home."

"You're lying again. For one thing, you're an anthropologist. You _do_ care how I died, who I am, how I was lost, the whole ball of wax. It's who you are."

The guy sat down across from Blair, and like Blair, crossed his legs. "So, I was born in Michigan in 1920, graduated from —"

Blair rolled his eyes.

*****

Jim glanced over at Simon and said simply, "Yeah, I do. And I'll do whatever it takes to get Blair back."

Nodding in satisfaction, Simon said, "So let's go back to Incacha and the Temple. We've both been around Sandburg enough that I think we can figure out what he'd say, where he'd go with everything. Right?"

Hand resting on Blair's neck, Jim nodded. "Right."

*****

Warmth. On his neck. Duquett was still talking and, absently, Blair rubbed at the warm spot. He closed his eyes and imagined that the heat came from Jim.

"... she was wonderful, warm, funny, and she seemed to understand what I was going through."

Maybe it was the tone of voice, the sadness that colored it, or perhaps it was simply Blair's innate curiosity. Whatever it was, Blair started listening.

"Jamie studied my 'symptoms', and with her medical background — she'd just completed her residency at Boston General — she came up with all sorts of experiments to test my abilities. She called what I had a gift. I called it a curse."

"What happened?" Blair asked, the question torn from him.

"She died. I mourned, and somehow ended up here."

Up to that moment, Blair felt that he'd been listening to the truth. Up to that moment.

"You're lying," he stated flatly.

*****

Simon was pacing again so Jim let him. He was concentrating on the feel of Blair's skin, relieved that, so far, the coolness hadn't increased. As he alternated between watching Simon pace and Blair breathe, he had to admit that strange occurrences seemed to have dogged his every step since discovering that he was a Sentinel. And for a man who hated the idea of being different, it was ironic.

_Face it, Jimbo. Could anyone **be** more different than you?_

_Sandburg,_ Jim answered to the small voice inside his brain. _He's pretty different. Weird. Offbeat._

_But you're the freaky Sentinel guy._

The freaky Sentinel. The Freaky Fucking Sentinel of the Great City.

"Jim?"

Jim blinked himself back to the loft. "What?"

"The fountain, what happened at the fountain? It's tied into the whole Alex-Temple thing, it has to be. You've never said anything about it, about how suddenly Blair was alive. Maybe now would be a good time?"

"Nothing to tell, Simon."

"Oh, really? As I recall, one minute Blair was dead, as in D-E-A-D, and the next, you were kneeling down and running your hands over his face. Then your body went completely still, as in statue, and before anyone could say body-bag, you were telling us how you could hear his heartbeat. Suddenly the kid is spitting up water. Doesn't sound like 'nothing' to me."

Jim looked up his friend, his eyes mirroring the pain the memory of that day at the fountain could still bring. Finally he said, "I couldn't let him go, Simon. It was that simple. And because I couldn't let go, I was screaming for help inside, begging for it. When I glanced down again, Blair was surrounded by this blue light, and I knew I could go to him."

"Blue light?"

"Yeah. It was the answer to my prayer. Then Incacha showed up and told me to use my animal spirit, and I think — I went — in after Blair."

Simon stopped his pacing to stare at his friend. He swiped a hand over his face, took off his glasses, then collapsed into the chair behind him. Rubbing at his eyes, Simon said quietly, "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but went in — where?"

Gazing down at Blair's face, so peaceful in repose, Jim answered, "I guess you could say that I went over to the other side. He was there, in the form of his animal spirit, and he was about to leave. He turned away from me but I somehow — stopped him." With a hand stroking Blair's face, Jim added, "You're probably not going to want to hear this either, but, well, when he turned back, we kind of _ran_ toward each other, took a huge leap, and then — he was alive."

"Dare I ask you to be more specific? And yes, I'm going to regret asking that too."

Jim smiled, then said, "We sort of became — one. One entity. Then I was back on the grass and I could see, hear and feel Blair's heart start up again. You know the rest."

"Tell me you told him about this?" Simon asked incredulously.

"I didn't need to. Sandburg saw everything. He shared his 'death' with me in the hospital and related the exact same sequence of events."

"Wait. You both saw — experienced — the same thing?"

"Yes."

Grinning, Simon said, "I'm betting Sandburg was jazzed."

Jim nodded but his expression darkened.

Simon caught it. "Jim? What is it?"

"Even in the fucking hospital, having come back from the dead, he was thrilled about it. Started talking about the mysterious and how the water was fine and how I should come on in, or join him, or something like that."

"That sounds like our Sandburg," Simon said with a touch of humor.

Jim gave a half-hearted nod, his mind suddenly taking him back to the forest, or 'other side' or whatever, wherever, he and Blair had been. Thoughts, phrases, and ideas were scrambling around in his brain, so he shook his head a moment, trying to clear it. Something — had something gone wrong when he'd gone after Blair? Was that it? Did that explain what was happening now?

"I think — something went wrong, Simon," he finally said.

"What do you mean?"

"When I went in after him. Something went wrong. Or —"

"Or?"

Jim started to stroke Blair's face as he stared at his partner. The thought that something had gone wrong seemed — off — now that he'd said it out loud. "No, not wrong," he said almost to himself, "but a path was opened and — something took advantage of it? Is that it?"

"Jim, you're scaring me."

"Simon," Jim said, eyes still on Blair, "think about it. Think about what I did. I defeated death, crossed over, and brought Blair back. In effect, I did what Blair calls a spirit walk. But while I was there, the door to both worlds was open, Simon. Couldn't — something — or some _one_ , have come through?"

"What, you're talking ghosts again? Another Molly?"

Jim frowned. No, that wasn't right either. And while he _had_ gone on a spirit walk thing, he hadn't crossed over. No, he distinctly remembered the wolf turning tail and heading for the bright light which meant that Blair had been _about_ to cross over. So they'd been in a place that was _between_ worlds.

Between worlds.

Okay, Detective, let's review. He'd seen a shadowy form in the loft and Blair had felt something — or someone — brush past him.

Between worlds.

So — if they came back through, couldn't someone else? But that person couldn't be alive, didn't have anyone to —

"No, damn it. This isn't a fucking movie. I don't have spirits in the television who are lost and just need someone to guide them to the light."

"Poltergeist," Simon said dryly.

Unaware that he'd spoken aloud, Jim looked up. "What?"

"You were describing the movie 'Poltergeist'. Is that what you think is going on here? Spirits needing Sandburg to guide them to some Great Light?"

A vision made itself known in Jim's mind. The vision of his animal spirit jumping through a blue tunnel that had formed in the palm of Incacha's hand. Once again he could see he and Blair about to merge, each coming from a different end of the tunnel before slipping into each other — and just like that, the answer came to him.

"Simon, help me."

"Jim?"

"We need to get Blair down on the floor. I think I know."

*****

Duquett cocked his head as if hearing something only he could. His body stilled and the whole effect reminded Blair so much of Jim that it physically hurt.

Duquett suddenly leaned down and reached for Blair's arm. Blair drew back, then scrambled to his feet and made the move away official. "I really don't want you touching me, man."

"We need to go. We can't stay here any longer or we'll be really lost. You need to come with me now."

"No. And if you're here, aren't you already lost? How could you get any more lost?"

"I may be lost, but if we stay here, we'll never find a way out. I've figured out that this is only a temporary place and not a good one at that. So come on. Now."

Duquett reached out again and in his hurry to avoid Duquett's touch, Blair stumbled. His arms wind milled and his hand connected with something warm. Fingers reached out —

*****

Simon took the blankets and afghan and piled them on the floor, then dropped the pillows. He'd already moved the coffee table away so the makeshift bed could rest in the middle of the living room. "Okay, I think we're ready, Jim."

Jim nodded and carefully extricated himself from beneath Blair, then stood. While he took Blair's upper body, Simon took his legs. Together they carefully lifted him up, over, then down. Jim cradled Blair's head until it was resting on the soft pillows, then took up a position similar to the one he'd taken back at the fountain all those weeks ago. "Okay, Simon, I need you over here, next to me."

Simon did as instructed, then asked, "Now what?"

"Now you hold onto me. Don't let go, no matter what you think is happening. And don't ask me why — I don't know why. Call it intuition."

"Nobody's intuition I trust more, Jim. Unless it's Sandburg's."

They grinned at each other, then Jim turned back to Blair. Just as he'd done before, he put his hands on Blair's face and concentrated.

The tunnel wasn't blue this time — it was gray and it was off-center.

No. It was — leaning.

*****

The sleek cat sprang forward, its body moving easily through the strange tunnel of dim light. As it landed first on its front paws, then its back, something landed on its shoulders.

A hand.

*****

Whatever his hand had connected with, it was not only warm, it was — furry. Blair glanced down and had to blink several times before his mind would accept what his eyes were seeing.

A cat.

A large black cat. Not a gray cat, but a shimmering iridescent, black as oil cat.

But its eyes were blue.

Blair buried his fingers in the fur and held on even as he whispered, "Jim."

**"NOOOOOOOO!"**

*****

Fingers latched onto its fur and the cat heard a soft voice whisper, "Jim."

A strangled yell broke the quiet calm and Jim felt the strength flow through him as fur melted away, paws turned into feet and hands, muscles lengthened and stretched, and slowly, ever so slowly, Jim straightened up whole, a man.

"Chief?"

*****

Duquett's scream startled Blair and his fingers slipped from the furry body, but at the same time, the fur began to change. Blair tore his gaze from Duquett in order to stare down at the animal, which was turning into something — else.

Into _Jim_.

Blair's eyes followed the change, and as the animal grew to a man, and the man grew to his normal height, Blair heard his favorite word. "Chief?" Blair didn't think, he just reached. His hand found Jim's and he took it as he murmured, "I knew it. I knew it."

Jim, his relief almost palpable, pulled Blair into his side while still maintaining his hold of Blair's hand. He gazed over the top of Blair's head at the man opposite. The hair on the back of his neck rose stiffly and all his alarms went off. He was staring at another Sentinel. "Who are you?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Before the man could answer, Blair pulled away and looked up at Jim. "He's a Sentinel, Jim. His name is Duquett. I think he's kind of... lost."

Jim tore his gaze from the man he was perceiving as his enemy, to look down at the upturned face. He gently stroked the back of his finger down Blair's cheek and said, "Did I just hear a 'but' in there, Chief?"

Blair turned so that his back was against Jim's chest. "Yes. I don't believe him, but so far, I haven't been able to figure out what's wrong."

Duquett stood unmoving, his eyes locked onto Jim's face. Even at Blair's words, he didn't move.

"Maybe I can add some information, Chief. I think it started at the fountain. When I spirit walked, I had to travel through a tunnel, a two-way tunnel. I think we passed through his world." Jim caught the flicker of emotion in the depths of the green eyes that told him he was on the right track.

"Jim, that was weeks ago. I'd think if that were true, I'd have been having these problems all along, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know, Chief. This is your area of expertise, not mine."

Blair smiled, then said, "Uh-huh, that's why you managed to get here, right? Because it's _my_ area of expertise and not yours?" Then his eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to the other Sentinel. As he looked at him, watched him watching Jim, an idea formed in the back of his mind.

"You needed time, didn't you? Time to gain the strength to begin to invade my life," he finally said.

The green eyes flicked to Blair, who could see the inner battle Duquett was waging. He also spotted the exact moment Duquett gave in.

"Yes," Duquett said simply. "No point in hiding that fact. When you moved through your end of the tunnel, you touched me. I could feel your life, your desire to live, to return to _him_." Duquett indicated Jim with a disdainful jerk of his head. "I'm a Sentinel, how could I not respond to you, Blair?" He lowered his gaze, then whispered as if ashamed, "I followed you back. And once here, I just had to wait and grow strong."

"Do you have any idea what you've cost him, what he's gone through in these last weeks?" Jim questioned angrily. "DO you?"

Duquett focused his attention on Blair as he said solemnly, "I just wanted out. God, haven't I paid for my sins by now?"

Blair stepped away from Jim and approached Duquett, but not going so close that the man could touch him. "I don't know what the hell you did to end up..." he looked around them, "here, but considering what you've done to me in order to get out, I'd say you've just racked up a whole new set of sins. Maybe it's time you told us every—"

Duquett started shaking his head as he interrupted. "No, no, you can't blame me for all of this, no sir. Yes, I waited until I was strong enough, but only to widen the window, so to speak." He looked at Jim over Blair's shoulder and added, " _You're_ the reason he actually started slipping away from you and toward me. I just... took advantage."

Blair looked over his shoulder at Jim, his brows arching in puzzlement. Jim was staring at Duquett, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

"Oh, yes, you know, don't you, Ellison? You know what you did. How you allowed this to happen," Duquett taunted.

"Jim?" Blair moved backward, edging closer to Jim, not understanding where Duquett was going, but knowing that he didn't like it.

"How?" Jim whispered. "How am I to blame?"

"You deserted him. Turned your back on him and the truth, denied him. There are only two other things a Sentinel can do to his protector that are worse; betray or kill."

Blair tried to take another step toward Jim, but the older man waved him off and stepped back as he said, "No, Blair. No."

"Jim?" Blair asked again, his voice tinged with panic. "Come on, man, you're not going to listen to this jerk, are you?"

"He's right, I did turn my back on you." Jim looked away from Duquett and focused all of his attention on Blair. "I denied what happened between us, Chief. I denied _you_."

*****

Blair took another step toward Jim, willing the older man with his eyes to remain still. It was almost like gentling a wild animal — a jungle cat.

"Jim," he said in him mantra-chanting voice, "you didn't desert me, or turn your back on me. He's playing to your fears, Jim. You _know_ that, deep down where it counts, you know this. Now why don't we go home now, okay? I'm starving. Literally."

"No," Jim said quietly, resignation in his voice and body. "Chief. I denied you when I failed to remember what happened in the Temple, in the pools. And worse, I denied us, denied what happened between us when I came after you."

"Well, guess what, Jim? So did I. Have I bugged you about any of it? Kept at you? Begged you to talk about any of it? No, I haven't. Why do you suppose that is, huh?"

Jim's gaze seemed to come back from a far distance as he focused all his attention on Blair. "What do you mean?"

"Jim, sometimes —" Blair let his voice trail off as he shook his head in frustration. "Look, Jim, you're not the only one in this partnership to be afraid. Hell, Superman would have had difficulty dealing with all the shit we've been through. But none of our fears have really changed anything, have they? I'm still here." He paused, looked around, then smiled wryly. "Well, okay, you know what I mean. I _stayed_. We fought through what happened, worked on our partnership. It's what we do, man."

He took another step closer and reached out a hand. With a glimmer of hope and humor, he added, "It's what _couples_ do, Jim. It's just that our — marriage counselor — is a bit different than most couples."

Jim stared at the offered hand, a hand that promised protection and strength, gentleness and understanding. He took it. His gaze softened and a small smile began to form as he said, "Marriage counselor, Chief?"

"Incacha, your spirit animal, mine, hell, we have a whole troop of 'em."

"But we haven't solved anything, Blair."

"Haven't we? Do you remember what you learned in the Temple?" Jim nodded, so Blair asked, "And is it okay? What you remember? Did it help or hurt?"

"It helped, Chief. It helped. I discovered my inner light. My safety net, if you will. You. And I figured out how to get here, to get to you."

Blair gave Jim's hand a little tug as he said, "And you're okay with that?"

Moving into Blair, Jim nodded. "Oh, yeah. I'm okay with it. It's kinda nice, in fact, this feeling of having a protector."

Looking up at Jim, Blair grinned. "Now you know how I feel every time Simon goes on the warpath and I hide behind you."

"If you think any of this mumbo-jumbo is going to get Blair out of here, you're mistaken. What was done, can't be undone," Duquett said with an air of a man who believed he'd won, but wasn't sure if he was happy about it.

"Aw, man, you just ruined a really cool, romantic moment." Blair faced Duquett and said with a resigned sigh, "Look, I don't know why you're here, but you do, so why don't you just tell me and maybe Jim and I can help you — _before_ we go home."

"Were we having a romantic moment, Chief?" Jim asked, a mischievous look in his eye.

"Hell yeah. And I'm planning a whole lot more, but right now, he..." Blair jerked his thumb at Duquett, "needs to tell us everything. Don't you, Duquett?"

For a moment, Duquett looked almost sad as he said, "Only one of you can go back. No matter what I tell you, that can't be changed. I'm sorry."

Blair stared open-mouthed at the man, and realized that he actually believed the guy was sorry. But finally he asked, "What do you mean only one of us can go back?"

Duquett shrugged, then said, "I could give you a lot of double-talk, but it boils down to the fact that you, Blair, have already started to shade, like me. To him," Duquett indicated Jim, "we have no color, we're gray. To us, he looks normal. Tell me I'm wrong?"

Blair turned back to Jim and with eyes wide, asked, " _Am_ I gray to you, Jim?"

With a sinking heart, Jim nodded. "Most of you — is gray. Only your eyes have color. They're blue, very blue."

"And him?"

"All gray, Chief."

"The longer your Sentinel stays, the more gray he will become," Duquett said.

Blair looked down at their hands and almost panicked. Jim's fingers were gray. With a snap, he pulled away.

"Jim, you need to go back now. _Right_ now."

"I'm not leaving without you, Blair. And as long as there's color in either of us, then we should be able to leave."

Shaking his head and moving even farther away, Blair said, "No, you need to leave. I'll find a way back, I promise, but please, go back now, Jim."

"It doesn't work that way, Sandburg."

Instinct drove Jim to his next action. He moved quickly past Blair and directly into Duquett's space. He immediately put his arms around the man.

Shocked, Blair jumped forward and tried to grab at his Sentinel, but even as he moved, even as his "NOOOO" was torn from his throat and Duquett tried to move out of Jim's grasp, Jim's entire body went gray.

"Aw, God, no," Blair whispered. "Jim, no, no."

*****

Simon felt something happen as the arm he held jerked, then went ice cold.

"Jim? Are you okay?" He shook his friend and, when there was no response, he shook even harder. "Jim, God damn it, talk to me! Say something, look at me, _do_ something!"

He started to release Jim, but then remembered Jim's words about not letting go no matter what. He held on tighter with his right hand, and with his left, grabbed Blair's other hand. Then he prayed.

*****

Jim let go of the other Sentinel and stepped away. Slowly he turned to face Sandburg.

"Oh, no, Jim, no. Why did you do that?"

"If you have to stay, I stay. It's as simple as that."

Blair noted that even Jim's eyes were gray now. He felt such a wave of pain flow over him that it elicited an anguished moan. With eyes that radiated his hurt and confusion, he said, "Jim, you didn't even give us a chance to _try_."

"Blair, I'm sorry, but there was no other way. I knew it, here," he tapped his chest.

Anger quickly replaced the fear in Blair and he turned savagely on the other Sentinel. "Duquett, I want you to tell me the truth, and tell me now. Why are you here?"

Head bowed, Duquett said, "I let her die. I let Jamie die."

*****

Sierra Verde, 1956

The feeling of power and strength was almost overwhelming. Jamie had been working with his senses for months, and now he felt as though he were operating at better than two hundred percent. He'd requested leave and Jamie had managed to get a vacation approved by the hospital, so here they were in Sierra Verde. It was quiet, no tourists, just a small sleepy town.

He couldn't explain why he'd needed to come here, of all places, for a vacation, but he'd been drawn to it. There'd been several strange dreams lately, and the closer he'd come to Sierra Verde, the more disturbing and exciting the dreams.

"Hey handsome."

Slim tanned arms wound around his neck and, grinning, he looked up and back into Jamie's laughing blue eyes. He caressed the soft skin of her forearm as he said, "Hey beautiful."

Sweet lips touched his and he grinned into the kiss. When they parted, he murmured, "Sangria. Yummy."

"Consuelo is bringing out a pitcher, so relax," Jamie said as she moved around to sit on his lap.

"Getting comfortable, are we?" he said with a grin.

"Very, thank you very much." Then more seriously, "How are you feeling today? You didn't sleep very well last night. You okay?"

"Another dream, that's all." He looked over her head, out into the jungle that surrounded their villa, and a faraway look came into his green eyes.

Jamie placed a warm hand on his cheek. "Johnny? What is it? Why are these dreams so disturbing?"

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the sudden weird and frightening thoughts, then looked into her lake-blue eyes. "I don't honestly know, but it's as if there's something out there and I need, and want, to get to it. It's almost — like a compulsion."

"Is that why you hired Verdugo?"

He nodded, his gaze moving back to the forest. "He's supposed to be the best. Knows the area backward and forward."

"Then I guess we go tomorrow as planned?"

"We do," he said with a firm nod. Whatever it was, it was out there, waiting for him, and he'd know it when he saw it.

"Can you share anything of this compulsion? The dreams?"

"A temple, Jem. A statue of a large cat, maybe a jaguar, standing guard in front. I keep seeing it in my dreams and I _know_ it's there waiting for me."

*****

The sun began its descent, but neither moved.

Jamie Sinclair dropped her head on John Duquett's shoulder, then tightened her hold of him. He might be having this 'compulsion', but she was having a few nightmares of her own.

In the months since the two of them had been working on his senses, John had changed. Jamie loved him with all her heart, but the changes scared her. The warm, gentle Marine she'd met six months ago had slowly given way to a sometimes cold, unfeeling man. A man who thought nothing of using his gifts in less than an honorable fashion.

As Jamie watched the shadows lengthen and the forest at the edge of the clearing darken, she wondered how long she could continue to love him.

*****

The Jeep stopped and Miquel Verdugo climbed out, walked to the front, then shrugged his shoulders. "Señor, I do not believe we can go any further by vehicle."

Duquett looked at Jamie, then at the loss of the road ahead. Slowly he reached back and grabbed their packs. "Then we walk," he said.

They'd hit the road before dawn and it was now late afternoon. Oddly enough, Jamie thought as she jumped from the Jeep, John had been doing the guiding, not Verdugo. He seemed to know intuitively which direction to head.

As the two of them joined Miquel, the man turned, scratched his chin, then pushed his hat back on his head. "We are no longer in an area that I know, Señor. I do not believe I can be of any assistance to you. I do know that if you proceed in the same direction, you will be heading into the Aterrizar de la Patrono. I will not go further. It is said to be haunted."

"I have paid you, Verdugo and you have spent it already. You _will_ accompany us."

"I will return half of what you paid, Señor."

Duquett's eyebrow arched in disbelief. "Oh, really? And how will you do that? You gambled it away, did you not?"

Verdugo stepped back, eyes narrowing. "How do you know this?"

John smiled grimly as he stepped into Verdugo's space. "I heard you, all of you. Cock fights. You lost more than I paid you. You are in debt now with Senor Dietrich."

"You cannot know this. The fights are private, you were not —"

"He has threatened you, has he not? Would it interest you to know that I may soon be going into business with Dietrich?"

Jamie stepped between the two men and placed one hand on John's chest, thus stopping his forward movement. With her eyes on John, she spoke to Verdugo.

"Miguel, we will pay you enough to get out of debt with Dietrich, but you must stay here, with the Jeep, and wait for us. Sí?"

Dark eyes flickered with need, then moved to the forest ahead, and finally back to the relative safety of the Jeep. "Sí. I will remain." Then with another glance at the too-silent forest, he added, "For three days. No more. If you are not back by then, you will not be coming back."

Duquett hissed and made a move toward the man, but Jamie pushed hard against him and said, "Fine. Three days. John, it's fair. Besides, you don't really need him, do you?"

Tearing his gaze from Verdugo, John relaxed and smiled. "No, I don't. Let's go."

Sighing in relief, Jamie picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder, watching as John did the same.

Moving toward the thick forest, John called back, "Verdugo, if you're not here when we get back, I'll hunt you down and kill you. Is that understood?"

*****

Jamie followed Duquett, keeping up with him as he marched through the forest, machete flashing as he blazed a trail for them. His eyes were focused far in the distance. She understood that he was seeing what she could not, but she found herself wondering if what he was seeing was real, or his dream?

After three hours, he stopped.

"We'll stop here for the night, start fresh in the morning," he said as he dropped his pack.

Relieved, Jamie let hers slide down, then rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. Every muscle hurt, but it was a good hurt.

Ten minutes later John had a fire going and Jamie started preparing their simple dinner. As the dried beef reconstituted in the heating water, she said, "Were you planning on telling me about Dietrich? Or was that a ruse to scare Verdugo?"

"Nothing to tell — yet. I've talked with the man and he's made me an impressive offer. Certainly more than I'll ever make in the Marines."

"You love the Marines, John. And if you think I haven't heard the rumors about Dietrich, well then, you're seriously underestimating the gossip quotient among our house staff."

"Dietrich is a businessman, nothing more."

"The hell he is, John." She suddenly stood and began to pace. "I don't know what's going on with you anymore. Six months ago, you would no more have considered working with Dietrich than you would think of robbing the Bank of England. Six months ago —"

"Was six months ago, Jem. And I haven't said I would go to work for him, only that he'd made me an offer."

She stopped and put her hands on her hips. "So are you? Considering it?"

John rubbed tiredly at his temples, then said, "I'm not deciding anything until I find what I'm looking for here, in this jungle."

Realizing that was the best she was going to get from him, she sat down and slowly pulled John into her arms.

He came willingly, sighing as he rested his head over her heart.

"I do love you, Jamie. More than anything."

"I know, John. I know."

*****

The light was blinding, as was the promise of untold power and knowledge. John moved forward, drawn irresistibly toward the light. As he drew closer, he could see the Temple, or at least parts of it, on the edges of the light. He squinted, then held up one hand to shield his eyes. Slowly the light faded. The trees, fronds and brush seemed to part mysteriously, providing him with a clear, unobstructed view. It was — beautiful.

Rising tall and majestic, covered with vines, it beckoned. As he approached, he spotted the great stone jaguar. He stopped long enough to admire it, to stroke its long back. The stairs called to him and reluctantly he left the cat and began his ascent. At the top, he found the great stone door, and in the center of the door, a carved eye.

John reached out, knowing that he had to touch it —

*****

John sat up, blinked, then looked around, confused. Reality hit him. He'd been dreaming again, but this time, the dream had been so real. He could still feel the cool rock of the jaguar on his hand. He looked down and found Jamie curled up on her side, burrowed deep within her sleeping bag. He stroked her hair, then got up and stretched.

He was close now, he could feel it. Very close. Maybe another day's journey.

Sleep was impossible so he walked over to the fire, brought it back to life, and set about heating up water for coffee.

*****

The heat and humidity were slowly taking their toll on Jamie. She was a cool-weather kind of gal and this deep-within-the-rain-forest shit was killing her. Her skin chafed and her hair hung limp and dripping with sweat. The only redeeming feature was that this moisture had to be good for her skin.

"John, wait up. I need to take a breather."

"We can't. I'm almost there, I can feel it. Another two hours at the most. You can make it."

Jamie stopped, bent over, and rested her hands on her knees. As she felt her lungs fill, she exhaled, then said through gritted teeth, "Yes, I can go on — after we rest."

She watched John's back stiffen, then slowly relax. He turned around, gave her a short nod, then remained in place. The message was clear. She could rest — for a few minutes.

Jamie straightened, looked around, and spotted a downed log. She walked over, sat down, and immediately opened her canteen and took one truly wonderful gulp. She let the water spill over and run down her chin, enjoying every minute of it. She was fully aware of John's stare, at the impatient body language, and she chose to ignore it. She needed this break and frankly, so did he. She screwed the top back on her canteen and set it on the ground next to the stump. Jamie moved her pack over and as she did, she caught a glimpse of color and something darting forward. She felt a sharp, sudden pain in her hand, and watched, stunned, as the 'something' slithered up a neighboring tree.

"JOHN!"

Jamie's scream brought John back from his thoughts. He found her bent over and holding her left hand. Her face was drained of all color. He was kneeling next to her in an instant.

"Jem? What is it? What happened?"

"Bit. Something, a snake, bit me." She held out her hand as tears of pain streamed down her face.

John didn't need his enhanced eyesight to see the fang marks. Even as he whipped his bandana from around his neck to position it on her upper arm, he asked, "Did you see it, Jem? Can you describe it?"

"It was — bright. Kind of reddish yellow. Its eyes were — weird."

"Scaly?"

"Yes, maybe."

John's heart thudded in his chest. A viper. This was not good. He reached back to his pack and pulled out the snakebite kit.

"John?"

"It's okay, honey. Just rest."

He'd done all that he could with the kit, given her a painkiller, then set up camp. They weren't going anywhere anytime soon. He knew that traveling now would only push the venom through her system faster, so for the next few hours, he needed to keep her quiet.

"How bad? I mean — how poisonous —"

He closed his eyes. "A viper, Jem. I'm going to make a travois and we'll start back for the Jeep first thing in the morning. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

"John, tell me the truth. I'm not up on my snakes."

"As long as we get you back, you'll be okay. I swear it."

*****

Jamie was asleep and, for now, the painkillers were working. Her arm was already starting to swell and the flesh around the bite was mottled and bruised. John stood and walked to the edge of their makeshift camp. He stared out into the darkness.

It was calling him. Even now, with Jamie lying at his feet, hurt, it was calling, relentless in its need of him. Without thought, he moved closer to the dark forest —

*****

It was so hot, so very hot. Water, she needed water. Jamie opened her eyes but her world was fuzzy.

"John?"

She turned her head, frowned, then called him again. "John? Where are you? Please? I need — I need — so hot, John, I'm so hot. Please, where are you? Johnny? Please?"

The forest remained oddly silent as the woman, delirious now, continued to call her lover.

*****

It was exactly as his dreams had shown him. John placed his hand on the eye and the door opened. He moved in, as if in a dream, but knowing that this time — it was real.

"My God," he said out loud. He played the light of his flashlight over the walls and marveled at the symbols he shouldn't understand — but did. There were torches on the wall and it only took him a few minutes to get them lit.

As he walked along wall after wall, the flickering torches casting a golden glow, he read, absorbed, and learned. This was greater than any dream had told him.

This was about the Eye of God.

Thirty minutes later, he'd prepared the drink as the writings instructed. He paused only briefly before drinking the sour liquid down. Fully clothed, he slipped into the shallow pool.

His world narrowed to nothing as his mind went blank.

John floated, senseless, and the visions began.

*****

Silence.

Slowly John lifted his head from the water. He raised one hand and placed it on the edge of the pool, then levered himself to a sitting position. Water dripped from his body and splashed back into the water — and he could hear every ripple. John cocked his head and smiled. He could hear his blood flow through his veins, could actually hear stomach acids churning, ventricles opening and closing — God, he could hear his hair growing.

With one easy move, he was out of the pool, his mind full of incredible knowledge, his body full of power. God's power.

He was all knowing — he was everything.

He was a God.

*****

John walked easily through the rainforest; the heat, dampness, and bugs were nothing to him. He could see as he'd never been able to see before, and no matter how much he could see, his brain took it all in, sorted it, and left him at peace. Nothing overwhelmed him, and no one sense could take over.

He was balanced, in tune with the very Earth.

Even before the camp came into view, he called out, "Jamie!"

There was no answer. He stopped and frowned. One sound was missing. Of all that he could hear, for as far as he could hear, he was missing one vital sound — Jamie's heartbeat.

Reality slammed into him and he dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. The pain was like nothing he'd ever experienced and he threw back his head to cry out his pain. No sound came forth.

After an eternity, he dropped down on his hands and crawled his way to the campsite and over to his soulmate. He reached out and touched deadly cold skin, then turned her head to face him — and found himself staring into sightless blue eyes.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

*****

Blair stared down at the shaking, trembling figure, then moved to his side. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Duquett.

"Blair, NO!"

"It's okay, Jim. Relax."

Duquett, unhearing and uncaring, grabbed hold of Blair and buried his face against Blair's shoulder, great sobs wracking his body.

Blair closed his eyes and rocked gently. He felt the air around him move, then a warm hand, Jim's hand, on his shoulder. He smiled, but kept rocking.

After several minutes, John finally drew away. He rocked back on his heels and palmed his eyes.

"Duquett, what happened after you found her?" Blair asked gently.

Face expressionless, Duquett said, "I went back — to the Temple. I had nowhere else to go. I carried her there. I still don't know why. I buried her in the Temple, then got back into the pool. When I opened my eyes, I was — here."

"There's more, isn't there?" Blair prodded, his voice soft.

Duquett nodded, then said quietly, "In the pool, a man, an — Indian, I think, came to me. He told me I'd followed the wrong path, failed the test. And worse, I'd allowed my protector to die alone and in pain. He said I no longer belonged in either world."

He looked over at Jim, then Blair. He smiled dryly. "Oddly enough, I didn't care. All that mattered was that I'd abandoned Jamie and let her die. I asked him if she — if she would be — he seemed to understand and nodded. He told me that she was safe and would never be alone again."

"How long were you in the Temple?" Jim asked, no softness in his tone.

"I don't know. Days maybe. Time meant nothing to me in there."

Jim could understand that. Time had held no meaning for him either. But in Duquett's case, the time lapse had meant the death of a young woman. Jim suddenly winced. His little — lapse — could have resulted in Sandburg's death.

Duquett stood shakily, making every attempt to regain his composure. He wiped a hand over his eyes as Blair stood up.

Knuckling back some hair, Blair asked, "You still haven't told us how you ended up here, and where exactly, here is."

"This is the place between worlds. The place I phased into from the pool. As I said, I went back into the Temple, buried Jamie, and crawled back in. I wanted to die and remaining senseless seemed to be the answer —"

"You're lying again," Jim said, his voice holding no censure. "Once in the pool, you had to have been bombarded by information. You lost Jamie, but you wanted more knowledge, didn't you?"

Duquett shook his head sadly. "No, I only wanted to die. But instead, my body disintegrated and I reformed here, my punishment for abandoning my protector." He turned to look around him, then said, "Once here, all the knowledge of who I was, what I was, came to me. I knew I was a Sentinel, that Jamie was suited to be my protector and teacher, and that I'd turned my back on her and a tribe I never even knew I had."

For a moment, all three men were silent, Jim and Blair digesting the information, Duquett lost in his memories and regrets. It was Jim who broke the quiet.

"Sandburg... you're fading," he noted, his alarm barely concealed.

Blair turned around and with a frown creasing his brow, he said, "You're not, Jim. You look the same, just, you know, gray."

Jim stepped closer. "Chief," he said, his expression one of complete shock, "Your eyes... they're still blue. You held him, touched him, you should have gone completely gray, as I did, but —"

"Jim, I can't hear you. Your lips are moving, but," Blair shook his head, "I can't hear you."

Jim reached out his hand, then in a panic, lurched forward to grab at his friend. His arms went through Blair and he almost fell into Duquett. Whirling around, he was shocked to find Blair a mere shadow, the vaguest of shapes.

*****

Simon didn't like this one bit. Jim was going as cold, if not colder, than Sandburg. In fact, unless Simon was going crazy (a distinct possibility after years of working with Ellison and Sandburg), it seemed as though Sandburg was warming up.

He maintained his grip on both men as he perused Jim's face, noting the slack mouth, the half-closed eyes, and the pale skin. All the symptoms of shock. Just like Blair.

"I should call the hospital, have them both admitted. I know this, yet what do I do? I sit here on the floor, holding onto each of them and watching them, what, die?"

Simon closed his eyes, sent up another prayer, then looked down at Sandburg.

"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!"

Blair's eyes were open, blue and bright, and he was staring at Simon.

"Simon?" he whispered through a rusty voice.

Leaning down, Simon nodded as he placed a large hand against Blair's cheek. "Yeah, kid, it's me. Are you — I mean, is everything —"

"OHGOD!" Blair shot up from Jim's lap and as he did, Jim fell over like a cut redwood. Blair just managed to catch him before his head hit the floor.

"Aw, God, Jim, Jim —" Blair scrambled up, twisted around and literally straddled his partner, knees on either side of Jim's waist. He placed both his hands on Jim's face, then said, "Simon, take his hand again. Don't let go, he needs our connection."

Simon took the cold hand and held tightly. There were a million questions to ask — and there were none to ask. He just watched.

"Jim, listen to me. I know you can hear my voice, you can _always_ hear it. You said my eyes were still blue, and that goes against everything we learned and experienced. It has got to mean something, Jim. I know —"

"Sandburg, I don't know what happened, but something Jim told me seems to —"

Without taking his eyes from Jim's face, Blair asked, "What, Simon? What?"

"At the fountain, when you were — when we believed that you were, you know —"

"Dead?"

"Yeah, that. Jim said that the reason he, you know —"

"Went in after me?"

"Yeah, that. He said you were suddenly bathed in a blue light, and later, he jumped through a blue tunnel, and that while in the pool, he was surrounded by a —"

"Let me guess; a blue light?"

"Yeah, that. But he said it looked like — an eye."

Simon watched as Blair took on the expression of 'The Thinker'. He could almost see the wheels grinding in Sandburg's brain.

"Simon, how — substantial — do I look to you right now?" he suddenly asked.

Simon could have gone for the flip answer, but instead, he really looked at his observer and was startled to realize that in fact, Sandburg _wasn't_ all that substantial.

"You look as though you're — I can't explain it, Sandburg."

"Do I look the way I'd look if you took off your glasses?"

"That works."

"Good."

Blair turned his attention back to his partner. "Listen up, Jim. I suspect you can still see me, but I'm probably not much more than a shadow. However, my eyes — they're what's important. Remember the pool? The blue light, the tunnel, the eye? Jim, if you ever needed to trust me, now is the time. You need to jump through, now don't laugh, but you need to jump through my eyes. The light, Jim. The light."

Blair held Jim's face, lifted his head until their noses were almost touching, then said, "Please, Jim, do it."

*****

Jim cocked his head. A voice — soft, barely there, but — there. He turned up his hearing —

"What is it, Ellison?"

Jim held up a hand, signaling for silence.

Blue light? Tunnel?

As Blair's words registered, Jim could hear Incacha as he'd heard him in the pool.

"If there is darkness, you must face it. The darkness will flee from the light, but the light must shine from within. I cannot bring it to you."

Then, just as he'd seen him in the pool, he could see Blair's face, shimmering in blue, smiling and trusting, guiding and protecting.

Jim understood what he was _supposed_ to do, but inside, in his heart, he doubted what he couldn't quite grasp. He stared at the shadow that was Blair, the shadow that was fading by the minute.

"Do it, Ellison," Duquett urged. "Trust in your protector or lose him. Your choice. We all have them, you know — choices. I made mine and here I am. I would give anything to be with Jamie. To hear her laugh again, to look into _her_ blue eyes, to feel her lips on mine." Duquett stepped to Jim's side. "Do it," he whispered. "Do it."

Jim stared hard at the man who'd brought Blair to this place, but all he found in the steadfast gaze was — honesty, sorrow, and regret.

"Can you imagine a world without him, Ellison?" Duquett asked. "Go. Take the chance, trust him."

Maybe it was the thought of never hearing Blair laugh again that did it, or maybe the sadness that now seemed to envelope Duquett. Whatever it was, Jim trusted. He closed his eyes and thought of his animal spirit.

A moment later, a large sleek cat jumped through a shining blue eye.

*****

"Sandburg, he's not breathing, Jim's not breathing!"

"GOD DAMN IT, JIM! JUMP!"

Blair's gaze traveled over Jim's face and his panic rose. "Don't do this to me, man. Please, just —"

Jim suddenly coughed and sputtered, then his eyes shot open. "Chief?" he managed to rasp out.

Grinning, Blair nodded. "None other, man. None other."

*****

Simon hurried back to the living room and the two men who sat side by side on the couch. He handed each of them a steaming mug of coffee, then sat down in the yellow chair. He was exhausted and had seen and heard too much today to ever go back to being a simple police captain. Someday, he hoped he could share this experience with Daryl. Someday.

"You do know that you two go beyond weird, right?"

Sandburg looked up from his mug and grinned. "Thanks, Simon. We love you too."

Simon rolled his eyes, then looked down at Jim's hand, held securely within Blair's. Talk about another fine kettle of fish. He sighed and took a sip of his coffee. Mmm, good. Of course, his had a hefty shot of Irish Whiskey in it, courtesy of Ellison's cupboard, third bottle in the back, hidden behind super sized bottles of ketchup. Figured that Jim would buy in bulk, there being two men in the house. Simon snorted into his Irish Coffee.

For several minutes, the three men were content to rest, drink, get warm, and recuperate. The silence didn't last, but the only surprising thing about that fact was that Jim broke it, rather than Sandburg.

Sitting straight up in his seat, eyes wide, Jim asked, "Chief? Your vision? Is everything leaning? Wavering?"

"Well," Sandburg said as if considering his answer very carefully, "Simon is covered in dots, but other than that, everything is back to normal."

Simon favored Blair with his patented 'I can freeze you with one look' look. "I have the power to make your life miserable, Sandburg," was all he had to say.

Grinning cheekily, Blair responded, "I thought that was my job? To make _your_ life miserable?"

Jim took Blair's mug and stood up. "Sir, give it up. You can't win." As he walked into the kitchen and to the cupboard with the secret stash of blended Irish whiskey, he added, "Sandburg, I take it that no one is covered in dots or anything else? That you're fine and dandy?"

"I'm fine and dandy. I'm also without my coffee, which was over half full, Jim."

Jim finished pouring the whiskey into the mugs and started to put the bottle back when Simon cleared his throat, loudly. Jim tucked the bottle under his arm, picked up the mugs and headed back out. He made a detour and let Simon take the whiskey from under his arm, then handed off one mug to Blair.

"I think you'll like this version of coffee better, Sandburg."

Blair sniffed, then sighed appreciatively. "Oh, yeah. This is good."

Simon topped off his, then after setting the bottle down, asked, "So? Anyone going to tell me exactly what happened?"

Jim looked at Blair. Blair looked at Jim.

"Um, Jim, why don't you —"

"Who knew you were such a wuss, Sandburg."

"You knew. All these years, you knew."

Jim shook his head, then said, "Well, Simon, seems as though there was once this Sentinel named —"

*****

Simon swiped a tired hand over his face. Fucking unbelievable. All of it.

"So what's happened to him now? He's what, stuck in that limbo-land forever?"

For the first time since his life had returned to normal, Blair's face showed true sadness. "I guess so, Simon. Although, in the end, I think he truly understood the gravity of what he'd done, both with Jamie and with me. Maybe he'll find his way out now."

Simon looked puzzled. "Wait. He was placed into that limbo _because_ of what he'd done, right? Because of failing a test. How could he just — find a way out?"

"Yeah," Jim asked, looking oddly at his friend.

Blair rubbed his chin and said, "I don't think anyone put him there, except, maybe, himself. I don't think it works that way, you know? I mean, think about it, who'd ever want to be a Sentinel?"

Jim spewed out his coffee. Wiping up, he said, "Sandburg, you amaze me."

"Aw, come on, man. You know how powerful the mind is. I don't think Incacha, or anyone would sentence a man to that life, or lack of life. They provided the test, and that I can understand. Having the abilities of a Sentinel has to be a heady experience for many. It only makes sense that there'd have to be a way to test the individual. But there is a certain — I don't know, call it an ingrained sense of protectiveness, in people like you, Jim. And when it's abused, the guilt for someone like Duquett, or you, Jim, would be tremendous. No, I don't think any spirit or entity would need to do the punishing."

"Are you saying that Alex punished herself?" Jim asked, the absurdity of it plain in his voice.

"Yes, in a way. I don't claim to know what the eye of God really is, but I suspect that a Sentinel sees — himself or herself. Every part of themselves. And they either accept it, or they don't. Alex didn't. Couldn't. What she saw was probably too dark and hopeless, and her mind did the rest."

Jim took another sip of his coffee and pondered Blair's words. They made sense, and they certainly jived with what he'd learned in going back and trying to remember what had happened in the pool. Except —

"Sandburg, I ran away from what I learned. Why didn't something happen to me?"

"Did you run away, Jim? Really? Or did you just refuse to accept one aspect of what you saw?"

Jim turned around so that he could look Blair in the eyes. He frowned at what he saw projected back at him.

Blair knew exactly what Jim had been running from.

"Jim, in a way, the last few months have been a kind of prison, for both of us."

"You're so damn smart," Jim said with a fond smile.

"Not always. Not in time, either. I almost lost you."

"We almost lost each other."

Simon huffed into his cup. "We're not going to get all touchy-feely, are we? This isn't going to turn into some x-rated moment, is it?"

Without tearing his eyes from Sandburg, Jim said casually, "It will as soon as we're alone, Simon."

"Aw, God. TMI, Jim."

Jim chuckled, then said thoughtfully, "There's still something unexplained here, Chief."

Simon's right eyebrow arched. "Only _one_ thing unexplained, Jim?"

Ignoring his boss and friend, Jim said, "You. Why, once you were over there, did you come back here? If he could bring you over, take advantage of our situation, why didn't you stay? And why did I?"

"See, Jim?" Simon said pointedly. "That's three things right there."

Smiling, Blair said, "Only two, Simon. Asking why I came back, and why I didn't stay are really the same question."

"Gee, thanks for the clarification, Sandburg."

"You're welcome," Blair said brightly, but with a covert wink at Jim.

"I just love the Sandburg-Simon repartee you two have going, but I'm still wondering why you faded and ended up back here."

Blair held up a finger and said, "Wait, hold on, let me check my vast resources." He then patted down his side, his pants, then said, "Oops, sorry, no resources. Fresh out, man."

"Smartass. Come on, I find it hard to believe that you don't have a theory, Einstein."

"Well, as hard as it to believe, I don't work on theories, I work by the seat of my pants, Jim. Thought you'd noticed that by now."

"Stand up, Chief."

Puzzled, Blair said, "What?"

"Stand up. You deaf or something?"

Shooting Jim and exasperated look, Blair nevertheless stood. "Okay, I'm up."

Jim made a twirling motion with his finger. "Turn around."

Blair's look changed to one of suspicion, but he turned. Jim leaned forward and inspected Blair's butt, then sat back.

"Nope, nothing there. The seat of your pants is completely devoid of information."

Turning back around, Blair wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and with his back to Simon, mouthed, "Wait 'til later, Jimbo. We'll see how devoid."

Smiling, Jim said, "Sit the fuck down."

Once he'd resettled, Blair said, "Actually, Jim, I do have a theory. I'm just not sure you want to hear it."

Jim gave Blair a hard look before his expression softened. "I want to hear it, Chief."

"Okay. I'm not sure how to put this, but I'm thinking this was more about — us, then about Duquett. I'm thinking — it was another form of a test."

Simon leaned forward. "Wouldn't that imply some kind of control by..." words seemed to fail him for a moment, then he said as he waved his hand in the air, "someone?"

"In a way, but let's face it, there's more going on in the universe then we could ever know. Forces at work, that kind of thing. I mean, if you want to ask a real question, then why not ask why Duquett was able to pull me through and into his world. What vulnerability did I have that I allowed it to happen?"

"Chief, that isn't fair to yourself. You had no control —"

"Come on, Jim, think about it. Something in me responded or was drawn to the other world of Duquett's mind or whatever you want to call it. Ultimately, we are, each of us, in control of our own destiny, but that doesn't mean there isn't some grand scheme in place. Incacha came to you, Jim, to help you and guide you, so why not work to help us now? And maybe even Duquett."

Jim smiled softly at his other half. "So what you're saying is that we'll never really know."

"What I'm saying," Blair said as he took Jim's hand, "is that we need to trust in what happened, and trust in each other."

Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "You do realize that in a way, you came after me this time. Somehow I think, since we're bandying about so many theories, that we finished something we started at the fountain — and the Temple."

"Guess we came for each other, huh?" Blair said wickedly, those expressive eyebrows waggling again.

Shaking his head, Jim said, "You really are a horndog, Sandburg."

"And Simon is _still_ present and accounted for, Jim."

"Hey, you're the one saying suggestive things and doing that," Jim wiggled his finger at Blair's eyebrows, " _thing_ with your eyebrows."

"Okay, on that note, this tired old captain is saying goodnight." Simon rose stiffly, the time spent on the floor having taken its toll. As he took his mug into the kitchen, Jim poked Blair in the side, stood up, and grinned when Blair held out his hands helplessly.

"Don't play Mr. Innocent with me, Chief," Jim whispered as he turned toward his boss.

Simon was slipping into his jacket when Jim came up to him.

"Thanks, Simon, for today, for — everything. I doubt that we'd be here now, if not for you."

"Oh, trust me, Jim, I know it for a fact. You two are lost without me." He grinned and slapped Jim on the back. "Just do me a favor in the future? Call Connor."

Blair made a face from his seat on the couch, a face caught by Simon. The big man laughed, then said on a serious note, "You two are special, don't ever doubt that. And Cascade needs you both. Hell, I need you both. And Sandburg, you ever repeat that, and I'll deny it.

Sandburg gave him a smart salute. "Yes, sir."

"On that rare note of servitude, I'm outta here, gentlemen. Play safe."

Jim opened the door for Simon and, as the older man stepped into the hall, Jim said quietly, "This thing with Sandburg and I, you all right with it?"

"I shouldn't be, but surprisingly enough, I am. Somehow, it's very right. And you know I don't mean the fact that you're both men. Exactly. Oh, hell, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, Simon, I think I do. And thanks, again. We owe you."

"Oh, yeah. Big time. Goodnight."

*****

Jim closed the door and locked up. He walked into the kitchen, rinsed out Simon's mug, then walked back into the living room where he stopped in front of Blair. For a moment, the two men stared at each other, both smiling. Finally, Jim said, "Thank you, Chief."

"You're thanking me? You're the one who threw his arms around Duquett in order to stay there with me." Blair dropped his voice and added, "And you're the one who believed in me, who believed that I wasn't going insane. And trust me, I know after three years, you had plenty of reason to think I was. No, I should be thanking you. So — thank you, Jim."

"It's a given that you're insane, Sandburg. Just not _that_ insane. You're kind of crazy insane, not schizoid insane."

"I'm so lucky you know the difference, man."

Smiling, Jim held out his hand.

"Ooh, does this mean we're finally going to come for each other?"

"You're incorrigible, Sandburg. Get your ass up and let's go to bed."

Blair pointed up. " _The_ bed? _Your_ bed?"

"I don't fit on yours. Now get the fuck up, Sandburg."

Blair pushed himself up, muttering, "Once a captain in the Army, always a captain."

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a big mouth?"

"Now _that_ is about to come in handy, Jim, so stop complaining."

Laughing, they walked around the couch, but then their paths diverged and Jim found himself heading for the stairs by himself. He stopped, cocked his head, and watched in confusion as Blair walked into his room.

"Uh, Blair? My room? My bed? Hot monkey love? Coming for each other, your big mouth? Does any of this ring a bell?"

"Oh, hold your horses, I'm just getting something."

A moment later, Blair's light went out and Blair emerged from his room, a small jar in his hand. "Okay, let's go," he said as he almost ran to the stairs.

Shaking his head, Jim followed at a deliberately more sedate pace. When Blair was half way up, he threw over his shoulder, "Naked Sandburg in about one minute, Jim."

Jim took the steps three at a time.

*****

Barely breathing hard, Jim hit the top step and stopped dead. Blair was most definitely naked, and aside from wondering _how_ he'd rid himself of his clothes so quickly, Jim was, more importantly, wondering why he was standing at the foot of Jim's bed, small jar in hand, and sprinkling whatever liquid was in said jar, over the bed.

"You know, three years now, I've lived with you, and I swear, I thought I knew all possible Sandburg mating habits, but this, this is new. Care to fill me in?"

"Man, this is _the_ bed, you know? My second Holy Grail. And this," he held up the jar, "is not unlike Holy Water to the Coujhi tribe of Brazil, so I guess you could say I'm blessing your bed."

"Gee, Sandburg," Jim said as he started to strip, "I guess I'm blessed."

"Well, duh. Look who you're about to go to bed with."

Jim dropped his shirt and socks in the laundry basket, then folded his jeans and set them on the rack. He kicked his shoes away and toward the wall, then stepped out of his boxers. He uncharacteristically kicked them out of his way and walked over to stand behind Blair. He leaned down enough to bury his nose in Blair's hair, even as he wrapped his arms around Blair's waist.

"So, is it blessed yet?"

Blair dipped his fingers in the jar, then reached back and sprinkled Jim's face.

"Okay, now I'm done."

"For that, you are in big trouble, Sandburg."

"Let me guess, you're going to drive me insane with passion?"

"I can do that."

"I just bet you can, Jim."

Jim turned Blair around in his arms, took the jar from his fingers and reached back to set it on the small table full of books. Then he framed Blair's face with his hands and slowly lowered his head and kissed him.

When it ended, Blair lifted passion-dark eyes to Jim and said, "I knew you'd kiss good. Of course, it could have been the Couhji water."

Jim kissed him again. This time, Blair kissed him back. When Blair moaned into Jim's mouth, Jim moved them to the bed, stopping only when their legs hit. He started to maneuver them so they'd fall, but Blair pulled away.

"Nuh-uh, Jim. Falling onto a bed looks good on television, but I _always_ get a sprained something or other. And in this case, I don't need your one hundred and seventy pounds landing on me."

"You really are a wuss, Sandburg," Jim said with a grin.

"Practical, Jim. Practical. Now just give me a minute."

Blair ran around to the side of the bed, a sight Jim definitely appreciated, then he tore the bedspread off, pulled back the covers and with a landing worthy of the space shuttle, he jumped in to land on his back. He bounced a bit, then patted the space next to him. "Come on, Jim, whatcha waiting for?"

"Flowery language would be nice, Lothario. I'm getting the distinct impression that I'm just another pretty face and body to you, Sandburg."

"Well, yeah. But not 'just another', Jim. You're _the_ pretty face and body. The only one I'll ever want. I love you, man. You're the alpha, the omega, the zippity-doo-dah, the pep to my pop, the Grey Poupon of mustards, Kobi beef, a WonderBurger with everything... um, can I stop now?"

"Hey, you were really on a roll. Don't stop on my account."

Blair pointed down to his now stiff cock. "I'm stopping on account of this. Care to help?"

Jim didn't say anything, but Blair would have sworn that his eyes glowed like a cat's in the dark. Jim lowered himself to the bed and began to crawl over to Blair, and damn, if he didn't feel every hair stand up on end. He actually shivered in anticipation. He was about to make love with Jim who, coincidentally, was a Sentinel.

Jim stopped when he reached his quarry. He straddled him, then sat back. Slowly he ran his hands up Blair's legs to sensitive thighs. "You do know you're incredible, right," he asked softly.

Blair watched Jim's hands move, stroke and rub as he shook his head, too numb to speak.

"Well, you are. You're beautiful and I owe you more than I can ever repay. Thank God we have a lifetime."

Blair frowned slightly as he reached down and captured Jim's hands, stilling their movement. "Is that what this is about? Jim," he said as he suddenly sat up, "you don't owe me anything, let alone — this."

"Blair, I owe you everything, but even if I didn't, I'd want this. You. I love you, Chief."

Seeing the uncertainty on Blair's face, Jim slipped one hand free of Blair's sudden death grip and used it to pull the younger man into his arms.

"Trust, remember? You know me well enough to know that I don't go to bed with people because I'm grateful. I love you, am in love with you, and plan to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Trust. Right. I can do that. But we really shouldn't discuss the reasons you go to bed with people. Criminal backgrounds played a heavy part."

Jim chuckled and said, "Can I get back to business now?"

Pushing himself away from Jim and dropping back to the mattress, arms spread wide, Blair said, "Have your way with me, Jim. Have a ball — or two."

"God, the next fifty or so years are going to be — odd."

*****

Blair looked down at the man sleeping with his head over Blair's heart. He ran his fingers through the short hair as he gazed around him. The moon provided more than enough light for him to see.

The loft. Free of dots. Everything standing as it should, straight and tall. For all the humor of earlier, Blair was exhausted, his mind only now really adjusting to all that had happened, and to how close he'd come to a world of insanity.

He'd spewed a lot of words to Jim and Simon, but in reality, he hadn't a clue as to what had happened or why. He wondered if he needed to know. Were the results enough? He supposed they'd have to be.

Jim was his now. To him, that was all that really mattered. He'd protect him with his life, stand by him, Guide him. That was his job. He knew that with a surety born of — what?

Blair Sandburg smiled in the silvery glow of the Cascade night. A surety born of recent events. His place in Jim's life — found. His place in his own life — found.

He prayed that Duquett could find something close to the same peace.

*****

There was nothing of the loft left. Duquett could no longer see, sense, or feel Blair.

The loneliness nearly overwhelmed him. He knew he'd done the right thing in encouraging Ellison to go through the blue pools of Blair's eyes, and perhaps that had been the most unselfish thing he'd done in years, but he was still alone.

John Duquett lifted his head, stared at his surroundings, and thought, "It's nothing more than I deserve."

He stood and began to pace his jail. Memories of Jamie swarmed over him.

Aw, God, was there any way for her to have forgiven him? If he just knew that, he could live within this prison.

_John?_

Duquett whirled around, searching, reaching out with his senses. "Jamie?"

_John, can you see me?_

Frantic, he covered every inch of his prison, but saw nothing.

"No, Jamie, I can't. Please, please, you have to listen to me. I'm so sorry, babe. I betrayed your love, Jamie, left you to die." He bowed his head. "God forgive me, I left you to die."

_John, look for the light from within. It begins and ends with you, John._

Puzzled, John lifted his head. The light from within? What begins and ends with him? "I don't understand, Jamie."

_Acceptance, John. For who and what you are. You failed only yourself. Can you forgive that?_

As Jamie's words swam in his head, he thought of Jim Ellison and Blair. Ellison had come to this place with a troubled soul, Blair Sandburg with a wounded and confused soul. They had found what? Themselves — and each other?

Could he forgive himself as Jim Ellison had? Would Jamie have come if she had not forgiven him? He closed his eyes again.

The light from within.

Jamie's eyes. So blue as to rival the brightest summer sky. Full of love for him.

Come to me, John.

The blue of them seemed to call to him, their power overtaking his gray world. Trusting as he'd never trusted before, he fell in.

"John."

Duquett opened his eyes to find Jamie, tall and smiling, holding out her hand to him. He took it.

End

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1316>


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